Halloween Unspectacular 6: Lair of the Hack Writer
by E350
Summary: Thirty-one days, thirty-one shots, thirty-one peculiarities, Halloween Unspectacular is back by unpopular demand! Prepare for scares (but don't get your hopes up) for a new beginning in quantity entertainment! Ratings, pairings and genres may vary wildly, read with discretion. Requests will be considered.
1. 01 10 16: Back in Hack

oh good lord it's back **  
**

* * *

 **01/10/16: Back in Hack**

Not very long ago, there was a colony of imps that lived underneath a terrible place called Stevenage.

Now these imps had very little do with their time. They couldn't go above the ground, as the tunnel to the outside world led through the railway station and none of them had a platform ticket. They couldn't visit other imp colonies, because all the other imps thought they were obnoxious. So instead, they resided in their caves, surfing the internet night and day, and sometimes playing Monopoly and getting into fights.

One day, the imps found a website called . The imps were pleased at this discovery, as they had needed to renew their Avatar fix since that show had ended. And as they searched this website, the imps grew confused. They wondered why there were lewd stories of Sokka and Bolin having M-rated encounters - didn't they know that this was impossible? They lived in two different time periods, for Pete's sakes! But eventually, they learned to love the website and all its flaws.

But they never got accounts. They preferred to leave mass anonymous reviews, usually containing generic copy-paste replies and unreasonable demands. The imps, as you may recall, were obnoxious.

One day, late in October, the imps discovered a series called _Halloween Unspectacular_. And it was an _appalling_ series, full of strange prompts, badly-written drama and 'comedy jokes', but it appealed to the imps' appreciation for schlock. So, one by one, on every chapter, they each left the same message - _gr8 m8 8/8 do more plz_.

There were thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty three imps.

The author's review moderation screen buckled under the weight, and it took him many, many months to review all of these submissions. But by the beginning of October, he was done, and come to the erroneous conclusion that _Halloween Unspectacular_ was the most popular series in fanfiction history.

In short, blame the imps.

* * *

The computer room of my house had been converted for the occasion. Rows of desks had been made, behind each of which sat a person with a notepad. Above the door was a sign that proclaimed 'muses.'

Suddenly, a military drum-beat began to sound in the distance. The door flew open as I entered the room. I grabbed my British Army helmet from the mantelpiece, threw it on, and began.

" _Let's get down to business...to write up some crap!_ "

I began to march between the desks.

" _We'll need lots of caffeine! Can't afford to nap!_ "

I leaned over Danny's desk, narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms.

" _You couldn't write a tale to save your lives,_ " I shrugged, " _But then again, that's nothing new..."_ I pointed obnoxiously in his face, " _Mister I'll make a hack out of you!_ "

The scene suddenly shifted to my yard, as if this was some kind of musical number. Whiteboards had been set up - I was inspecting the ideas written on them.

" _If you cannot brainstorm, then you're out of luck,_ " I declared.

I shook my head at Danny's whiteboard, which was blank.

" _We need every idea, even if they suck!_ " I bellowed.

" _It's a poorly-written messy plot,_ " I said, shifting through bits of note-paper, " _Where it goes, I've not a clue._ "

I shoved them into Tucker's chest, shaking my head.

" _Somehow I'll make a hack out of you!_ " I vowed, "Ha!"

The scene shifted again, now back to the muse room.

" _I wish I didn't write so slow,_ " groaned Timmy.

" _Really need to find a new job,_ " muttered Danny.

" _Man, I really wish I'd come here with Steven!_ " lamented Connie, smacking her head into the desk.

" _Obligatory Cameo_ ," said Plankton, standing on the windowsill.

" _Sucks so much it makes me so-ob!_ " declared Stan, holding up his notes.

" _What the heck is this I do not e-veeeeeen?!_ " asked Kamala, staring at her notes in confusion.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _We must print concepts like Weimar bank notes,_ " I said, watching my printer print notes.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _With the coherency of Dan Brown,_ " I said, reading _The Da Vinci Code_ upside-down.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _With all the subtlety of steamrollers,_ " I said, slamming the notes with a mallet labelled 'my point.'

" _The quality of an ep of T...T Goooooooooo!_ " I bellowed, watching Danny, Connie and Kamala watch an episode of _Teen Titans Go_ in horrified confusion.

" _Time is racing t'wards us_ ," I shouted, pacing the desks, " _'Till deadlines arrive!_ "

" _Shut out all your logic,_ " I advised, throwing a dictionary out the window, " _And you might survive!_ "

I leaned over Danny's desk, shaking my head at the quality of his notes.

" _Your work's too good to fit in here,_ " I said, " _So pack up, go home, you're through!_ "

" _How could I make a hack out of you?_ " I asked as Danny walked away.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

 _We must print concepts like Weimar bank notes..._

Danny sat at home, narrowing his eyes as he stared at his computer screen. He chugged a can of energy drink and began to type.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

 _With the coherency of Dan Brown..._

The next morning, a visibly exhausted Danny printed his work.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

 _With all the subtlety of steamrollers..._

I looked over Danny's work, clearly utterly confused and bewildered.

 _The quality of an ep of T...T Goooooooooo!_

I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up - it was perfect.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _We must print concepts like Weimar bank notes!"_ the muses exclaimed, arranged in military formation for no particularly good reason.

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _With the coherency of Dan Brown!_ "

 _Be a haaaaaack..._

" _With all the subtlety of steamrollers!_ "

 _"The quality of an ep of T...T Goooooooooo!_ "

I nodded, looking over the last of the notes.

"We're in business."

* * *

"Welcome back to 's least favourite Halloween tradition!" I exclaimed, sitting around a table, "We took a year to recharge and now we're back!"

"And what exactly is new about HU6?" asked Danny.

"Absolutely nothing, actually," I shrugged, "It's the same deal - comedy on even days, drama on odd days, so on and so forth..."

"You forgetting something?" demanded Tucker.

"Oh, right, _that_ ," I nodded, "We're starting a new overarching canon. You might remember the Camelot/magic/what-have-you stories from the last three or so HUs? Well, that story ended, so we're starting a new one this year!"

"So no Fiddley Thing?" asked Tucker.

"I never said that."

"And the contest this year?" said Danny.

"Yeah, I'm changing that up," I nodded, "I'm going to make it less vague. As you know, I'm terrible at actually making prizes and I think that's because I promise too much. So from now on, there is going to be one winner of the one-shot contest a week and they'll get a drawing of their choice...within reason...on Tumblr and dA."

"This week's word is **Reboot** , and remember that there's no word limit," said Danny.

"Well, that's about it," I nodded.

I turned to the muses, who were standing off to the left.

"All you people get out of my house."

* * *

AN: What? I couldn't just throw some introduction message for the new beginning, could I?


	2. 02 10 16: The Calamiturian Candidate

This is probably the most political entry into this series I've done, but I've got to be honest, I'm not sorry.

* * *

 **02/10/16: The Calamiturian Candidate**

 _With apologies to any current presidential candidates._

Professor Finbarr Calamitous had decided to go into politics.

No, this was not to say that he was going to run personally - his record of incarceration would surely turn of the tough-on-crime crowd - he was going to run a patsy in his place. A meticulously engineered, vat-made super-candidate.

"Alright, let's see," he said, checking his clipboard as he paced his lab, "Need to make sure we've ordered everything we need..."

Plankton and Crocker looked over the supplies stacked in the corner, right next to a large vat filled with generic green liquid.

"Let's begin," said Calamitous, "Throw these in as I list them, alright? Three locks of hair from three distinct human beings..."

"We've only got two, actually," admitted Crocker.

"What?!" demanded Calamitous.

"Yeah, the third lock seems to come from an Oompa Loompa," said Crocker.

"Eh, it'll do," shrugged Calamitous.

Crocker and Plankton hurled the locks of hair into the vat. It fizzled wildly.

"Moving on," said Calamitous, "A vat-cloned human brain..."

Crocker winced as he hurled the brain into the vat.

"A vat-cloned _rat_ brain..."

"Ah, the most political of all animals," nodded Plankton, throwing the second brain in.

"An Oxford Dictionary..."

"Sorry, we don't have that either," said Plankton, "We have a different book, though."

"Throw it in," nodded Calamitous.

Crocker nodded, throwing _The Collected Works of Augusto Pinochet_ into the vat.

"That VHS tape I bought last week," added Calamitous.

Plankton threw _How To Commit Fraud (And Get Away With It)_ into the vat.

"Manufactured patriotism..."

"Isn't that more of a concept than a thing?" asked Crocker.

"Depends on your opinion," shrugged Plankton, throwing images of _[your least favourite politician]_ into the mixture.

"Chemical X..."

"We ran out of that," said Crocker, "We've got Chemical Y though."

"What's the difference?" asked Calamitous.

"It's like Chemical X, but it's cheaper," shrugged Crocker.

"Also it melts titanium," added Plankton.

"Good enough," nodded Calamitous.

Crocker poured it in.

"And lastly," declared Calamitous, "A book on ethics and human decency!"

"Oh, sorry," said Plankton, "I think I loaned that one to Preston Northwest."

* * *

"This book has made some excellent firewood!" declared Preston, reclining in front of his fireplace of burning volumes.

* * *

"...well, he's a politician, I don't suppose he'll need it," shrugged Calamitous, throwing the clipboard away, "Anyway, the final touch!"

He reached into his lab-coat, producing a glowing light bulb.

"The _spark of human intelligence!_ " he declared.

He laughed maniacally as he held it over the vat, his two partners joining in as they prepared to drop the bulb into the bubbling green sludge.

Suddenly there came a dull pop, and the bulb fizzled out.

There was a long silence.

"Oh, who cares, he's a patsy," grunted Calamitous, unceremoniously dropping the burnt bulb in.

The vat shook as the mixture inside began to boil over. A slimy form began to emerge from the middle. Calamitous gazed on his creation in terrible glee, rubbing his hands together.

"Yes... _yes...it's the perfect candidate!_ "

* * *

"...thank you Harriet - I'm Lance Thunder, reporting live from the Dimmsdale Convention Centre, where the front-running presidential candidate is preparing to take questions from the general public."

Lance Thunder stood in front of a stage surrounded by rows of seats. He was one of many reporters covering this event from a variety of channels and newspapers. The event was filled to the rafters - everyone was waiting impatiently for the candidate to emerge.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the PA announced suddenly, "Introducing the next President of the United States, Matthias Dickerson!"

There was applause as the man walked onto stage.

It was hard to say if Calamitous' creation had gone horribly wrong or horribly right. The candidate was slightly orange-skinned and a strange, almost plasticine facsimile of a human face. He wore a brown leather jacket over a woollen waistcoat. He wore aviator shades over his eyes. His grey hair was almost certainly a toupee.

"I'm voting for him," declared Mr. Turner, elbowing his son.

"Thank you, thank you," said Dickerson in a gentle, middle-American accent, "Let's get right to it. First question...you."

"Yeah, hi," said Sam Manson, standing up, "I have a question - what exactly is your policy regarding the environment?"

"Well, let's be frank here," said Dickerson, smiling and exposing far, far too many teeth, "Nature has been trying to kill humanity for generations, and is therefore the clear number one threat to American security. Therefore, if I am elected, Strategic Air Command will be ordered to launch nuclear attacks on the Amazon immediately, so that man may finally live in peace."

Sam's jaw dropped, but she shook her head and continued to speak.

"But...but...if we keep destroying...carbon...what're you going to do when the sea levels rise?" demanded Sam, "When Miami floods? When Baton Rouge floods?"

"Scuba tourism," shrugged Dickerson.

Mr. and Mrs. Turner both whooped as the crowd applauded. Sam shook her head and sat down, horrified.

"Next question," said Dickerson, "You, at the back."

"Yes, Shandra Jimenez," said the reporter, "Can you tell me what you economic plans are? How exactly are you going to deal with the economic crisis?"

"Well, there's a clear answer to that, Shandra," nodded Dickerson, "And that answer is..."

His head suddenly snapped back, his toupee flying off. Timmy saw what looked almost like a third eye just above his hairline, completely black with no iris.

" **We must incarcerate the poor** ," said Dickerson, his voice deep and distorted, " **Turn them into mindless super soldiers bent on war and conquest, with which we shall steal other countries resources and sell them for ourselves. Manifest Destiny!** ** _Manifest Destiny!_** "

His head snapped forward again, and he smiled cordially.

"So, basically, there will be no change to our current economic policy," he said, "Just a few more super-soldiers."

There was another round of applause. Timmy looked down at his two wristbands - one pink, one green.

"Is there something weird about this to you guys?" he whispered.

"No," replied Cosmo, "Aren't all rallies like this?"

"I don't know, this _is_ getting a little Lovecraftian," mused Wanda.

"Why are people cheering him, though?" asked Timmy.

Mrs. Turner shushed him as Dickerson called on another person.

"Yes, my name is Pearl, I've saved your planet several times," said Pearl politely (Amethyst, who was sitting next to her, rolled her eyes), "What is your platform on non-human residents of the United States?"

"Well, first of all, thank you for your service," said Dickerson.

"But I'm not in the military," said Pearl, although she was drowned out by cheers.

"Anyway," continued Dickerson, "As you may be aware, I have run a rather...hard line on immigration, and I don't have any intention to change this. As for aliens and monsters that may or may not be attacking our place, well..."

His head snapped back again. Some strange lumps appeared in his neck, and a fleshy, tentacled mash of wings emerged from his back.

" **Earth for the Earthlings, Humanity for the Humans!** " bellowed the candidate, " **All xeno lifeforms will be purged! I will create a new branch of Homeland Security, and they will be called the President's Most Holy Inquisition! And then I'll create a new task force, and it will be called the Ordos Astartes and it will know no fear! We nothing to fear but fear itself and aliens! Peace is for the weak! War is the natural stake of mankind! More defence contracts!** "

"I think he's deteriorating," said Timmy.

"Oh, this happens to every candidate in the end," said Wanda.

Much of the audience had gotten to their feet, cheering their mad political overlord. The black eye on Dickerson's forehead began to glow. The top of his head burst open, revealing a mass of strange tumours with tiny eyes on their tips.

Behind the stage, Calamitous began to become a little concerned.

"Why is he turning into some kind of Shoggoth?" he asked.

"Well, I reckon it's either the Chemical Y or the works of Pinochet," shrugged Plankton.

"Never mind," said Calamitous, "He still seems to have some kind of hypnotic politician's charm, so we should be in the..."

The backstage door was suddenly kicked open, and a trio of police officers burst in.

"Police!" the lead cop bellowed, "Freeze!"

"Run!" exclaimed Crocker.

The three antagonists bolted for the door, the police hot on their heels.

Out in the main hall, dozens of SWAT officers burst in, training their weapons on the rapidly mutating Dickerson.

"Matthias Dickerson!" bellowed a cop, "You are under arrest for tax fraud and...um...presumably being some kind of undocumented alien shape shifter!"

Dickerson growled. Most of his skin tore off, revealing a terrible mass of tentacles, eyes and gaping maws under his human form.

" **THERE ARE KNOWN KNOWNS** ," he roared, " **I HAVE MADE GOOD DECISIONS IN THE FUTURE!** "

His tentacles shot out, wrapping themselves around the officers' weapons and pulling them out of their hands. He then expanded massively, smashing his head through the roof.

" ** _I STAND BY ALL OF THE MISSTATEMENTS I'VE MADE!_** " he bellowed to the heavens.

There was a flash, and Danny Phantom appeared, hovering next to the horrifying monster.

"Alright, buddy, that's enough," he said, "Time to get off the campaign trail."

" **CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, YOU RATF-** "

A giant hand swung from just beyond the hole in the roof, hitting Dickerson square in the face and sending him flying into the distance.

Danny looked up. Kamala Khan stood on the edge of the hole in the roof, her fist returning to normal size.

"Nice save," nodded Danny.

"No problem," replied Kamala, "Now come on, we're taking him off the ballot."

"Sounds good," said Danny, flying up through the hole. Kamala followed after him, and a few seconds later, Pearl, Amethyst and Garnet had risen from their seats and were following.

Timmy sat in the half-wrecked hall, trying to rationalised what had just happened. Everybody seemed very confused. Somewhere in the distance, somebody's phone was ringing - the ringtone was Madonna's _Material Girl_ , which only added to the surrealism of the situation.

"I guess we're going to have to vote for the other guy," said Mrs. Turner.

"Aw, but he wants to raise taxes!" groaned Mr. Turner.

He crossed his arms petulantly.

"I _hate_ politics."

"Welcome to the club," nodded Timmy.

 _The illegal we do immediately. The unconstitutional takes a little longer._ _\- Henry Kissinger_

* * *

AN: No political figures were harmed during the making of this fanfiction, although a great many were mercilessly mocked.


	3. 03 10 16: Hanging Tree

This one got _way_ more violent than I originally intended.

* * *

 **03/10/16: Hanging Tree**

The sound of keys in the lock woke Stanford Pines, and he looked up from his bed. Three guards stood outside his cell - two of whom were armed with shotguns, which they pointed at his chest. The third spoke up.

"It's time, Doctor Pines," he declared.

Ford sighed heavily, climbing to his feet. The officer grabbed him and pulled him out of the cell, cuffing his hands as he did so.

"Dead man walking!" bellowed one of the other guards, "Dead man walking on the last mile!"

"The cell block's empty, you idiot," snapped the lead guard, "Shut up."

Ford said nothing as they walked him down past the row of cells. The footsteps of the guards' hobnailed boots echoed ominously in the air as they headed for the door to the small room that housed 'Old Sparky' - the Electric Chair.

As they neared the door, a rotund man in the uniform of the county sheriff marched around the corner, stopping in front of the procession. He crossed his arms.

"Change a' plan, boys," he declared, "Governor wants to make a statement. Old Sparky ain't good enough."

"So what do we do?" asked the lead guard.

"The old oak tree in the grounds," replied the Sheriff, "We're gonna make a real spectacle o' this."

He leaned right into Ford's face.

"Boy, you done spirited away my private property," he spat, "I'm gonna enjoy watchin' you die."

Ford fought the urge to scoff at being called 'boy'.

The Sheriff marched the procession down another corridor, towards the door into the courtyard. He pushed open the doors - Ford winced a little at the sunlight.

Ford found himself standing amid a terrible procession - dozens of men and women, dressed in their Sunday best as if they were attending some kind of gala, crowding around the path to the old dead tree in the centre of the prison courtyard. They shouted and bellowed the most terrible insults and slurs, their faces filled with frenzied hate. Around the courtyard stood the men of the state's National Guard, standing impassively at attention with polished boots and gleaming M1 rifles.

The guards marched Ford slowly towards the tree. Rotten fruit was flung from the crowd, covering the prisoner with stinking gunk.

"You gun' die, Jew boy!" one man bellowed.

"Burn in hell, you heretical scumbag!" another screamed.

"Repent your sacrilege!" thundered a woman, hurling a tomato into Ford's cheek.

Ford rolled his eyes.

The guards reached the tree and stood him up. The Sheriff sneered as he picked up a noose hanging loosely over the branches - it was connected to a fine pink limousine, clearly the man's own property.

"High noon," he snarled, "It's about time, boy."

 _Perfect_ , Ford thought.

"Good ladies and gentlemen of the county!" called the Sheriff, turning to face the crowd, "A moment o' quiet, if you please?"

The crowd quietened, and the Sheriff began to pace in front of the prisoner.

"Stanford Filbrick Pines!" he shouted, "You stand accused of violating the Fugitive Slave Act, and spiriting away the possessions of the good people o' this state. How do you plead?"

Ford said nothing.

"Looks like he's got nothin' to say, y'all!" exclaimed the Sheriff.

The crowd jeered. The Sheriff allowed them their fun, then held up his hands for silence.

"Well now," he declared, "By the power invested in me by the Governor and State of Georgia, I hereby pronounce that you shall be hanged by the neck from this here oak tree until you are dead. May the Lord above have mercy upon your immortal soul."

He leaned in close to Ford again.

"Y'all have anything to say before we cast you into the fire?" he spat.

"Just one thing, yes," nodded Ford, smiling, "If you value your continued existence, I would very heavily recommend you cut me loose."

The Sheriff scowled and slapped Ford across the face.

"I'm gonna make this slow, you son of a bitch," he snarled.

He marched to his car. Ford sighed, and counted down in his head.

 _Five..._

The crowd jeered. A woman screamed a very, very unpleasant word at him, which became a chant among the people.

 _Four..._

The Sheriff climbed into his car, putting his key in the ignition.

 _Three..._

The guards stepped back. The lead one gave the Sheriff a thumbs-up.

 _Two..._

There was the sound of tires skidding on concrete, and Ford was suddenly lifted up. His breath was suddenly and painfully taken away.

 _One..._

The longest second of Ford's life.

 _Zero._

A green portal opened in the middle of the courtyard, and a figure emerged.

Rick Sanchez pulled a snub-nosed pistol from his coat and jammed it into the closest guard's chest. He pressed a button on the side - the barrel shot out, impaling the guard through the chest and coming out the other side. Rick pulled the trigger, and a red ray hit the second guard in the face, stripping the flesh from his head and leaving it a smouldering skeleton.

The third guard yelped and drew his shotgun, firing it at Rick. He instead blasted the first guard in the back, achieving nothing and getting his own head incinerated half a second later.

At the same time, Sandy jumped out of the portal behind him. She cringed at Rick's blasé murder of the guards, but quickly turned her attention to Ford. She leapt up the tree, jumping from branch to branch and grabbing his rope. She drew a knife and cut him loose - he dropped painfully to the ground.

The Sheriff climbed out of his car, appalled, as three more figures emerged from the portal - Valerie Grey, Lapis and Jimmy. He shook his head and shouted out.

" _What're you people waitin' for? Kill them!_ "

The crowd surged forward, just as Ford was getting to his feet.

"You know, Rick, I was really hoping we'd get out of this _without_ getting into a massive fight," he grunted.

"Come on, Ford, th-the guys in this dimension are basically _Uber Lost-Causers_ ," said Rick, "We're morally obligated to kick their asses!"

"Eh, fine," grumbled Ford.

He surged forwards, swinging his fist into a man and knocking him out. He kept his momentum, swinging a kick into a woman about to brain him with a rock and then uppercutting a man in the chin. He turned to several men about to charge him - there was a series of cracks and they all fell, revealing half a dozen National Guardsmen aiming their rifles at him.

"Alright, you shot first," sighed Ford.

He reached into his coat and pulled a laser gun. He charged the guardsmen, tackling the closest one and jumping from his shoulders into the air. He fired twice, both times striking a guard, before landing in a barrel roll and letting off a series of shots at the other three men. All were hit, and Ford got to his feet.

There was the sudden rhythm of machine-gun fire, and Ford rolled out of the way. He looked up to the walls - three guardsmen had set up a heavy machine gun on the ramparts and were firing indiscriminately into the courtyard.

"So unprofessional," muttered Ford, ducking for cover.

"I'm on it!"

Valerie rocketed up to the ramparts on her sled, jumping down on top of the gun crew. She punched one in the face and grabbed his pistol, which she used to slam across the faces of the other two men in one swing. She tipped the gun off the side of the wall and charged forward towards a line of twelve reinforcing guardsmen.

"Nice," she grinned, "Bowling."

She jumped up, her sled gliding underneath her feet. She grabbed the tip and roared forwards, straight into the formation of guards - they were all knocked over like bowling pins, landing all over the ramparts, all out cold.

Down below, Sandy was surrounded by a squad of guardsmen, all of whom were aiming their rifles at her face. Their leader, a sergeant, brandished a Thompson, which he swung cockily in her face.

"End o' the line, ya freaky little rodent," he sneered, "You're stuck in here with us."

"Nah," shrugged Sandy, "Y'all stuck in here with _me_."

She grabbed the barrel of the Thompson and pulled it up, causing the sergeant to fire wildly in the air. She threw a roundhouse kick between his legs and pulled the gun from his hands. She ducked down under a volley from the other men and slammed her hand onto a small, metal device around her ankle. There was a sudden sonic pulse, and the guardsmen fell to the ground, clutching their ears.

Sandy looked down at the Tommy Gun in her hands.

"Hmm," she mused, "Reckon I could make something outta this."

Not far away, Jimmy doubled back from some advancing rioters, firing his Tornado Blaster into them one at a time. He furrowed his brow.

"This isn't gonna be enough," he muttered, "I need backup."

He cupped a hand over his mouth.

" _Goddard!_ "

The robotic dog emerged from the portal, zooming to his master's aid. Three rocket pods emerged from the sides of the dog's body - Jimmy's attackers looked up at their new attack.

"This ain't gonna end well," one said.

Goddard fired. The volley of rockets slammed into the ground among the rioters, sending them all flying.

Jimmy rubbed his hands and grinned. Goddard landed next to him and he rubbed the dog's head.

"Good boy."

Lapis stood by the prison's water tanks. Several guardsmen were advancing on her, an officer at their head.

"Get her, boys!" he bellowed, "She's the weakest one!"

Lapis raised her arms. The tanks burst, three enormous columns of water being lifted into the air. The soldiers halted, gazing in horror at them as they shifted into the shapes of fists.

" _NO SHE AIN'T!_ " a guard bellowed as they started to run.

Lapis dropped the watery fists down onto the troopers, washing them all into the far wall at great force. There was a thunderous crash as tons of water (and a lot of unfortunate guards) were slammed into the concrete structure.

Lapis allowed herself a small smile.

"Nice try," she said.

The Sheriff snarled, marching up to Ford as he fought off a few more rioters. He pulled an ivory-handled revolver and pointed it at his head.

"I am gettin' mighty sick of you, you troublesome little f-"

There was a strange fizzling noise. The Sheriff stood perfectly still for several seconds.

Then the top half of the Sheriff slowly slid off of his waist, landing on the floor with a wet thud. Behind him, Rick was holding a laser sword.

" _Welp_ ," said Rick, throwing the sword away (there was a shriek from far away), "That's done. L-let's go home."

"Geez, Rick, was that really necessary?" asked Ford, cringing.

"Necessary, no," replied Rick, "Cathartic, yes."

Sandy, Jimmy, Lapis and Valerie walked up, gazing around the courtyard. It was now full of moaning, injured people lying on the ground - at best.

"Please tell me you didn't wipe out half of that crowd," sighed Sandy, with the tone of somebody who had been through this sort of thing before.

"Fine, I didn't," grumbled Rick, "You should be thankful I can lie so easily, Sandy. Now..."

" _Away Team, this is Home Base, did you grab Ford?_ "

Rick pulled up his sleeve, revealing a communicator watch on his wrist.

"We got him, Spongebob, don't worry," replied Lapis.

" _Oh, good! How'd it go?_ " asked Spongebob.

"Well, we had a minor altercation," replied Ford.

" _Please, Rick,_ " said another voice, " _Please tell me nobody died this time..._ "

"Morty!" exclaimed Rick, "You should've b-been here, Morty! I killed, like, fifty racists! Fifty racists, Morty!"

" _Aw jeez, Rick, why..._ "

"Well, we'll head back in," interrupted Jimmy, "Anymore dimensional problems we need to handle today?"

" _Nah, come on home_ ," said Spongebob, " _Mission accomplished, everyone! I guess._ "

The group began to walk back to the portal.

"When we get back to you, I'm talking to you about our subtlety policy, Rick," said Ford.

"Aw, c-come on, they're _slavers!_ " exclaimed Rick, "No-nobody cares what happens to them, Ford! Jesus, it's like saving the universe with the Salvation Army here..."

* * *

AN: In case you're a bit lost, Ford got arrested in a universe where the American Civil War didn't happen for freeing slaves.


	4. 04 10 16: Genies Are Jerks

Freakin' genies.

* * *

 **04/10/16: Genies Are Jerks**

It is an objective scientific fact that all genies are jerks.

You might say this is a bit of a prejudiced thing to say. You might say you cannot paint the entire race of Djinn with the same brush. And most people would agree - the Djinn are a wonderful people and a fascinating culture. But we're not talking about the Djinn. We're talking about genies. Furthermore, most Djinn would agree with you, as they are the ones who punished the genies for their various acts of jerkery by consigning them to lamps in the first place.

They're a bit like Loki, actually. The Norse Gods didn't punish Loki because they hated people named Loki - they punished Loki because Loki was being a jerk.

But I digress.

It is an objective fact that all genies are jerks, but none are more unpleasant than the genies that hail from the territory of the former Ottoman Empire. There's a reason for this, too - at the height of his power, Suleiman the Magnificent (who, as the name indicates, was a Pretty Cool Guy - eh conquers the Balkans and doesn't afraid of anything) declared that all genies encountered by Ottoman forces were to be removed from the empire at once and banished to the furthest corners of the Earth. This put them all in a very bad mood, as you might understand, and they tended to enact retribution by being particularly unpleasant to anybody who they encountered.

Therefore, it is worth being cautious around genies. If you find a lamp, don't rub it (why _would_ you rub a lamp, anyway? I mean, unless you're cleaning it, I suppose). If you do rub it, think very carefully before making any wishes, for the genie will twist them hard like a jar lid that won't come off. And if you don't think and immediately wish for all the gold - well, I tried, but there was clearly no helping you, you greedy little-

...oh right, the story.

Well, like many stories, it was a dark and stormy night...

* * *

"... _with the weather expected to remain generically dark and stormy throughout the night_. _I'm Lance Thunder, and that's the weather._ "

Steven and Connie lay on one of the beds in the small hotel room, leaning over the latter's laptop. The Crystal Gems had come to the city on a mission to find Gem artefacts being sold at a flea market down the street, and they'd decided to make a holiday of it. Unfortunately the rain had prevented Steven and his friend from doing anything interesting that day - but there was always YouTube.

" _...will see you guys in the next video. Bub-bye!_ "

"So he just sits around getting scared at games?" asked Steven.

"Usually," nodded Connie, "Sometimes he gets mad at them, though."

The door opened, and Garnet led the Gems in.

"Any luck finding the artefacts?" asked Steven, jumping to his feet.

"No," sighed Pearl, "He'd sold them to a mayor up in Amity Park. We'll have to keep heading north and get them from him."

"We did find this, though!" said Amethyst, throwing Steven a small golden lamp. His eyes lit up.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, "Is this a genie lamp?"

"I highly doubt it," scoffed Pearl, "But we thought you'd like it anyway."

"I don't even know what a genie is," said Lapis.

"I think it's a kind of fish," shrugged Peridot.

"That's a _guppy_ , Peri," chuckled Amethyst.

"I thought a guppy was a rich person..."

"C'mon Steven, rub it!" exclaimed Amethyst.

"I don't know, Amethyst," mused Connie, "Haven't you read the stories? Genies are dangerous..."

"It's okay, Connie," reassured Garnet, "Genies aren't real. Nothing's going to happen."

Steven looked down at the lamp.

"Okay," he said, "Here I go!"

He rubbed the lamp.

There was a loud bang and the power went out. The room was filled with laughter as the lamp glowed vibrantly. Smoke poured from the spout of the lamp - a form began to appear in front of them.

"I stand corrected," said Garnet.

The form solidified into a green, female form. She stretched out, clearly happy to be free of the lamp.

" _Yes!_ Oh, it is good to be out of that thing!" she declared, "Finally!"

"Are you a genie?" asked Steven, somewhat redundantly.

"I," declared the genie, "Am Desiree, the genie of the lamp!"

She paused.

"Well, I am _now_. I used to be a ghost but then the ghost boy made that wish...urgh, I hate that guy..."

"Wait, dude!" exclaimed Amethyst, "We get three wishes?"

"Eh, no," replied Desiree, "You get one wish each. _But be warned! Once the last of you makes your wish, I will be freed of the lamp!_ "

"These rules seem a little arbitrary," said Pearl.

"What are you, a lawyer?" demanded Desiree, "Come on, wish up, I wanna get out of here."

Pearl opened her mouth, but Peridot jumped up in front of her.

"I wish for gold!" she exclaimed.

Desiree rolled her eyes and clicked her fingers.

Peridot immediately froze in place. There was a flash, and she instantly turned into solid gold. She tipped over, landing with a thud on the carpet.

"Yeah, you're one of _those_ genies," grunted Connie.

"Hey!" shouted Amethyst, "That's not what she wanted, you..."

"She wished for gold, didn't she?" snapped Desiree, "Come on, keep the wishes coming, I want out."

"Turn her back!" demanded Garnet, her gauntlets forming over her fists.

"You're missing a word," replied Desiree, crossing her arms, "Come on, you know what to do..."

Garnet snarled.

"Fine," she said, "I _wish_ you'd turn her back."

"Oh, you're making this too easy," sneered Desiree, clicking her fingers again.

There was another flash. Peridot coughed and spluttered as she sat up.

"Hey!" she shouted, "You _knew_ that wasn't what I wanted! That's not fair! _Grr;_ _punch her face, Garn_..."

She turned around. Now Garnet had been turned into a solid gold statue.

"Oh, come on!" she bellowed.

"What, you both got what you wanted," shrugged Desiree, "You got gold, the tall freak got you turned back. Everybody's happy."

"Why _did_ you wish for gold, anyway?" Pearl asked.

"What, humans want that stuff, right?" replied Peridot, shrugging, "I just wanted to know what the big deal was."

Pearl groaned.

"Okay, we have to _think_ about this," she said, "We can't let her twist our words against us again. Now, how do we fix this..."

She scratched her chin, brow furrowed. Then she smiled and snapped her fingers.

"I've got it!" she said, stepped forward, "I wish..."

She tripped over the laptop, which had been left on the floor, landing face-first on the bed. She cringed and looked down at the object on the floor.

"Argh! Darn laptop!"

"I wish darn laptop," shrugged Desiree, "Okay."

"Wait, no!"

Desiree clicked her fingers.

A very old, very broken laptop appeared in Pearl's hands.

"I decided to interpret that as wanting a laptop you wouldn't like," said Desiree, "Hence, darn laptop."

Pearl held her hair and growled loudly.

"Maybe we could just beat her up," shrugged Amethyst.

"Oh, that's not going to work!" exclaimed Pearl, "She's a being of pure magic!"

"So?" demanded Amethyst, "It's not like that's new for us!"

"You can't just _punch_ every problem, Amethyst!" snapped Pearl, "It doesn't work like that..."

"Agh! I wish you'd just _shut up!_ " bellowed Amethyst.

She immediately clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Ooh, good idea!" said Desiree jovially, "I was getting pretty sick of her myself."

She snapped her fingers. Pearl's mouth suddenly shrunk into nothing, leaving blank skin over the bottom of her face. Her eyes widened as she clutched at the place where her mouth had been.

"Oh my gosh, Pearl!" exclaimed Amethyst, "I didn't mean to...I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

She clutched her head and continued to babble out apologies. Peridot ran over to her and hugged her in an attempt to comfort her.

"Quit hurting my friends, you clod!" she snapped.

"Hmm... _nah!_ " shrugged Desiree.

She turned to Steven and Connie, who were hunched over a book titled _How To Deal With Genies_. Where they had gotten this book was anybody's guess.

"Alright, children," she snapped, "Your turn to wish."

She extended an arm, causing the book to fly out of their hands. It flew through the window and out of sight - a second later, there was a faint cry of 'my leg!'

"I...I-I...I wish you'd go back in your lamp!" shouted Steven.

Desiree rolled her eyes. She dissipated back into smoke and wafted back into her lamp. The lights came back on.

Steven and Connie breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a sudden loud bang, the lights went off again and Desiree burst out again.

"Okay, that was about three seconds, wish granted!" she said.

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Steven, exasperated.

Connie grabbed Steven's shoulders.

"We need to think of a way to reverse all this!" exclaimed Connie.

"But what if we can't?" asked Steven.

"Then she'll get free, Steven!" replied Connie, slightly hysterically, "And who _knows_ what she'll do when that happens?!"

"Well, I'll probably start by wiping that annoying ghost boy from existence," shrugged Desiree.

* * *

Far away, Danny Fenton had a sudden feeling of deep foreboding.

* * *

"Then, I dunno, world conquest?" mused Desiree, "Anything's possible. Anyway, hurry it up, come on."

"Agh, I'm panicking!" lamented Connie, "I can't think straight!"

"Everybody calm down, _everybody calm down!_ " shrieked Peridot.

"Connie, breathe!" exclaimed Steven, shaking her somewhat counterproductively.

"I'm trying, I just wish I had more time to think... ** _dang it!_** "

Desiree smirked.

"I love it when they panic," she said smugly, snapping her fingers.

Connie and Steven both froze. They began to shrink, their bodies taking a slightly metallic sheen. A light green base appeared around their feet, and before long they were little more than three-inch tall pewter figures sitting on the carpet, posed with sword and shield respectively.

"Steven! Connie!" exclaimed Amethyst, running over and picking them up.

Pearl put her hand over where her mouth should have been, and Peridot began to grind her teeth.

"Finally! _Finally!_ " exclaimed Desiree, "I'm free! I'm-"

"You forgot someone."

All eyes fell on the corner of the room. Lapis stood by the door, arms crossed.

"Lazuli?" said Peridot.

"Oh, right, the blue one," Desiree said flippantly, "Come on, let's get this out of the way, what do you want?"

"Oh, don't worry, I've thought about mine," she said.

She smirked.

"I wish that everything would be returned to the way it was before Steven rubbed the lamp..."

"Okay, done, that's..." began Desiree.

" _And_ ," Lapis stressed loudly.

Desiree stopped just before clicking her fingers. She wasn't sure if she liked where this was going.

"...you'd go back to your lamp, and stay there until somebody rubs it again..."

Desiree cursed, but Lapis kept going.

"... _and_ your lamp would be teleported into the bottom of the ocean..."

"No, you can't..."

"... _and_ ," finished Lapis, "You'd lose all of your memories of this, so you couldn't come out and have revenge if anybody did manage to find you...and you'd forget about whoever this ghost boy is too, because he probably doesn't deserve to be erased, you know."

She shrugged as she finished her wish.

"Aw," groaned Desiree, "I _hate_ run-on sentences."

"That's okay," replied Lapis, "I hate when people hurt my friends."

"Touché."

The lamp began to glow. Desiree screamed.

" _Noooooooooooo!_ " she bellowed, " _How could this happen! How could this happen to me! Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy-"_

There was a brilliant flash.

Lapis found herself standing in the hotel room, now lit again. Garnet was rubbing her head, wincing a little. Steven and Connie were sitting on the edge of the bed - they looked at each other, cheered and hugged.

"Lapis!" exclaimed Pearl, "That was incredible."

"Eh," shrugged Lapis, "It was okay."

"Okay?" demanded Peridot, "Lazuli, you did what nobody else could! You beat the genie at her own game!"

"You the man, double-L!" said Amethyst, pumping her fist.

Garnet smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

"But Lapis," asked Connie, "How did you know she'd have to accept the wish when it was that complicated?"

"Oh, that was easy," replied Lapis.

She lifted up a small, worn handbook labelled ' _How to Use Your New Genie_.

"I read the manual."

* * *

"So you have them?"

Vlad Masters rolled his eyes at the agent on the other side of his desk.

"All the artefacts I could acquire are in there," he said, "It should prove more than satisfactory."

The cloaked agent looked into the duffel bag on the desk and nodded. He reached into his cloak and handed Vlad a vial.

"Our enhanced ectoplasmic serum, as requested," he said.

Vlad took the vial and grinned.

"Ah, excellent," he nodded, "Please send Rausseman my regards."

"This changes nothing, Mr. Masters," growled the agent, "PURITY will still claim what it wants from this city."

"I'll take that as fair warning," nodded Vlad grimly.

The agent nodded in return and walked away.

* * *

AN: Egad! Plot!


	5. 05 10 16: The Picture

There's always one really bizarre one and this one is that one. Today's shot is brought to you by the letter Y, the number 0 and my parents' disappointment.

* * *

 **05/10/16: The Picture**

Preston Northwest was dead.

It perhaps said more about him than any obituary or biography ever could that nobody was in a particular hurry to mourn him. The supremely wealthy magnate had died alone in a swanky Boston apartment, his body remaining undiscovered for three days. His wife, Pricilla, with whom he had been plotting out a messy divorce, pointedly refused to wear black in remembrance of him - she did not attend the funeral. His assets were handed over the his attorney, who gave them to his next of kin without any fanfare. A few wealthy men and politicians spoke at his funeral, primarily because they were obligated to, but behind doors they raised glasses and drank to Preston's demise.

Little remained of the glory days of the Northwest family. The ancestral manor had long been acquired by Fiddleford McGucket, a far more deserving man whose inventions had made him beloved by all. The Mudflap Factory and several other industrial concerns had been shut down by OSHA and the EPA. Many of his country estates, illegally stolen from First Nations peoples, were returned to their traditional owners.

His shares were handed out to businessmen he had assumed he could trust in life, most of whom ignored Preston's long-term investment plans and sold them for cash. A fashion business in the South-West, currently buried in a class-action suit by a group of Hispanics for grossly offensive cultural appropriation, was liquidated. The other companies generally went to faceless men in drab suits.

Which left his daughter, Pacifica Elise Northwest.

Pacifica had long been disinherited by her parents. Her father expressed personal shame that she'd 'taken the dastardly path of altruism' and 'shamed the moral fibre of the Northwest line.' What he meant was that she'd decided not to be awful to other people and that she was less straight than considered optimal. It therefore came as a surprise to her when she found out she'd inherited the family's oldest property - an estate in the Cotswolds in the middle of England.

There was one stipulation, as her father's nasally, blue-haired lawyer made sure to stress. She and her wife were to stay in the estate for one night, alone - once this was done, not only would it be hers, but so would Preston's remaining money.

And that was how Mabel and Pacifica Pines came to be standing in front of the old but stately house. It was a drab, grey affair, probably hundreds of years old, and it was covered in vines and greenery.

Mabel whistled.

"Well, it's a mess," grunted Pacifica.

"It's _rustic_ ," corrected Mabel.

"Mm-hm," nodded Pacifica, striding up to the door, "Let's just get this over with so we can go home."

She pulled an old key from her jacket and unlocked the door. She pulled it open - there was a loud creak.

The entrance hall was small and dark. Every wall was covered from bottom to top in portraits - men and women, young and old, in all manner of costume from all manner of periods. In the middle there sat a suit of bronze armour, somehow still gleaming despite the fact that nobody had visited the estate for years. There was a plaque underneath the armour, but it was coated in dust.

Mabel leaned down and blew on it, exposing the writing.

"The armour of Percivale of the North West," she read, "Paz, you never told me you had a knight ancestor!"

Pacifica crossed her arms.

"He wasn't exactly a _knight_ , Mabel," she replied, "More like a brigand. Family legend says he was a bandit with dark magic powers - he was _obsessed_ with his appearance."

She looked up at the helmet of the suit of armour.

"He'd find the most attractive people in all of England - men and women, it didn't matter," she explained, "He'd invite them back to his castle and claim he was commissioning a painting of them. Then he'd use his dark magic to turn them into magic portraits. As long as he had at least one portrait, he could live young and handsome for one lifetime, plus his own. But one wasn't enough..."

"What happened to him?" asked Mabel.

"He kidnapped the young king and his brother from the Tower of London," replied Pacifica, "And he blamed their uncle, making sure he'd become one of the most vilified kings in English history. So the new king hunted him down and killed him."

"Oooh," nodded Mabel, "So did that really, actually happen, or is it just a myth?"

Pacifica shrugged.

"I'd say it's just a myth, but given what we've seen..."

"True that," nodded Mabel.

She jumped to her feet.

"Well, we're in England, so we have to eat an English dinner!" she exclaimed, opening the front door, "I bought beans, I bought eggs, I bought bread...we're gonna get _so much fibre_..."

Pacifica shook her head as she followed her wife out of the entrance hall. She never noticed the head of the suit of armour look up as she did.

* * *

There was the loud chime of a bell, and Pacifica awoke with a start.

"Agh! Stupid clock!" she grunted, rolling over in bed.

She gazed at the far wall and realised something was missing.

"Wait, Mabel?" she called, "Where are you?"

She climbed out of bed, tiptoeing across the master bedroom (which, like all the other rooms, was covered in portraits). Slowly, she opened the door.

"Ah! There you are!"

Pacifica swallowed. The voice sounded a lot like her late father - except a little more English.

She looked down the corridor. Mabel was suspended in the air, holding her throat. Next to her was the suit of armour - it now had the head of a handsome man. He was bearded and moustachioed, with piercing blue eyes and perfect teeth. He was smiling jovially at his other 'guest', as if he was some kind of children's show host.

"I haven't had visitors in quite some time, you know!" exclaimed Percivale of the North West, "It was very nice of old Preston to send you!"

"Let her go!" demanded Pacifica, grabbing a candlestick from the wall and brandishing it threateningly.

There was a brief pause.

"Okay," nodded Percivale.

Mabel was suddenly hurled forward, slamming into Pacifica and bowling her over. The two climbed to their feet - Pacifica continued to stare down her ancestor.

"Uh, why are ghosts always such jerks?" demanded Mabel, "I mean come on!"

"I'm not a ghost, my dear," replied Percivale, "It's as you said, Pacifica - I have enough portraits to last me several lifetimes! Do you really think a sword from an angry Plantagenet is going to do me in?"

"How do you know my name?" snapped Pacifica.

"Preston's ghost dropped by," shrugged Percivale, "He couldn't stay long, though - and frankly, it didn't sound like he was going to the good place, if you know what I mean."

"Too bad," spat Pacifica, holding up the candlestick, "Now, you've got five seconds to back off..."

"Are you threatening the dark mage, my dear?" asked Percivale, amused, "What do you possibly have that could scare me?"

"Dipper Pines," replied Mabel, crossing her arms, "My bro-bro has access to enough knowledge of the paranormal to make your head go..."

She made an explosion sound and spread her hands out from her head.

" _Charming_ ," said Percivale, "But I'm afraid I have it on good authority that dear Mason and the Corduroy girl are busy in Guatemala at the moment, and by the time they get here, it will be much too late."

He chuckled.

"Now trust me," he said, "This won't actually be an unpleasant experience. _Freeze_."

Pacifica felt her body go rigid and she found she could not speak. She could move her eyes, and out of the corner of them she could see that Mabel seemed to have been frozen too. She was halfway through pointing at Percivale and saying something, and Pacifica had to admit she looked a bit comical.

Percivale nodded and raised his arms, whispering so softly to himself that Pacifica could not hear what he was saying.

 _Come on, if you're gonna turn us into something weird, you could at least make it dramatic, you freaking weirdo._

The voice was in her head, but Pacifica knew for a fact that she hadn't thought that.

 _Mabel?!_

 _Oh my gosh, we can hear each other's thoughts! This is_ so cool _!_

 _Mabel, we're being_ transmogrified _._

 _Yeah, but you gotta look on the bright side, you know?_

Pacifica couldn't help but chuckle a little in her head, despite herself. She couldn't possibly fathom why, but she didn't feel even slightly afraid.

 _Mabes, shouldn't we be...you know...scared of this?_

For some reason, Pacifica could tell Mabel had mentally shrugged.

Being forced to stand still wasn't actually _that_ bad, actually. The sun shining over the forest felt nice, and there was a cool breeze in the air. Sure, _Percivale_ could move, but he was on the other side of the window in front of them in a dark, dingy house in the middle of the night.

She idly noticed that she was now in the clothes she had been wearing when she first arrived at the estate - a black blazer over a white shirt, white jeans and leather boots. Mabel, as always, was dressed in a sweater (this one blue with an image of the sun on it), which was covered by a black biker jacket and a knee-length skirt. She didn't exactly know why these details struck her just then - she could have sworn she was in a nightgown a second ago.

 _Did he change our clothes?_

 _I...no, no he didn't, we were always wearing this._

 _Yeah, okay._

She watched Percivale nod at his handiwork so far. He waved his hands and she began to move. One arm embraced her wife over the shoulder - she felt hers do the same. The other hand reached out, palm outstretched - she touched hands with her partner. Both of them smiled warmly.

 _Boop!_

 _Well, this is weirdly romantic..._

 _We're lovers! What did you expect?_

 _Right, yeah, duh! Psh, silly...you know, your colours feels real nice._

She blinked internally. Colours? Why did she think that? Surely she meant skin, right?

No, of course she didn't mean skin. What the heck even was that?

Percivale grinned, a very malicious tint to his usually jovial appearance. He studied the two, scratching his chin. He nodded and clicked his fingers.

She suddenly began to feel very, very strange, as if there was a pressure pushing at her back. She glanced around with her eyes - the entire world seemed to be contracting forward, growing thinner and thinner as everything seemed to mush up against the window.

 _What's happening? Are we...are we flattening?_

 _Well, I guess there's no such thing as a 3D painting, Mabel._

 _Did you just call me Mabel? Come on, I'm clearly...wait..._

 _Honey?_

 _I...who was I again?_

For a moment, her perception became impossibly skewed, as if she was looking along the side of a glass pane. She couldn't feel the parts of her body that were behind her arm and hand, nor the part of her arm that was behind her wife's shoulders.

 _Hey, did you just lose feeling in parts of your body? You know, the parts that are hidden behind other parts?_

 _I...wait,_ behind _? How can something be_ behind _something? There's only two dimensions, silly - up-down and left-right!_

 _Right, right, don't know what came over me. A_ third dimension? _Pzzt! Baloney!_

Percivale grinned again, rubbing his hands together.

"And now," he said, "The final piece."

A small spark of light appeared on his finger. He began to reach forward towards the window.

 _Wait, we still haven't worked out which of us is which? What happened? Why can't we remember!_

 _I...hmm...that's weird...wait, I think I know!_

 _Well, tell me!_

 _It's actually kinda funny, you're gonna love this!_

 _What is it?!_

 _Ha...our paints ran together._

Percivale touched the painting. There was a flash of light, and then darkness.

* * *

 _Ugh...my colours are killing me..._

 _What did we do last night?_

Their vision slowly returned.

A young man, enormous from their perspective within the frame, was pacing back and forth. He was running his hands through his hair, clearly in a state of total agitation.

"Aw man, I told myself I should've come, Wendy, why didn't I come?"

A red-haired woman stepped into view, stopping the man and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Dipper, dude, calm down, we'll figure this out," she said, "It could be worse. It's lucky Ford bugged the place before they got here."

"And you _will_ be hearing from my people about that!" a nasally voice bellowed from the left.

"Oh, shut up!" barked Wendy.

"Right, right, sorry," nodded Dipper, "Sorry, I got carried away. Anyway, we've gotta find this Percivale guy before he captures someone else..."

"Might wanna get some anti-magic wards first," noted Wendy.

"Ford'll have some, I'm sure," nodded Dipper, "Right, okay, we'll get them, we'll find Percivale, we'll turn everybody back, and..."

"...and then we'll beat the snot out of him," finished Wendy, pounding her fist into her hand.

"I love you," sighed Dipper.

"I know," replied Wendy in mock smugness.

 _Turn us back? Why would they want to do that?_

 _Um...oh yeah, we used to be human, didn't we? And that guy's Dipper!_

 _Weird name._

 _And the other one's Wendy, and I think the nasally one's Soos._

 _Nah, his voice doesn't sound right._

There was a long pause as Dipper and Wendy picked them up, carrying them to an old automobile parked on the side of the road outside the house.

"Don't worry, Mabel," said Dipper, "I'll save you!"

 _So, um, which of us is gonna be which again? I'm still a bit confused._

 _Well, whichever we pick is probably what we'll be if we get turned back..._

 _Do we have to get turned back?_

 _I dunno, hope not. But if we do, we need to pick our identities. So I thought you were Mabel, so..._

Dipper and Wendy carefully placed the painting in the trunk of the car.

 _Yeah, okay, I'll be her, she's cool. You can be Paz, Paz!_

Dipper cast his transformed sister one last glance before slamming the boot shut.

 _Yep. I'm Mabel Pines,_ thought Pacifica Northwest.

* * *

AN: On the plus side, Preston is dead.


	6. 06 10 16: Twenty Terrible Theories

Sorry if this one is a little hard to read - it was either do it like this or fill it with line breaks, and I think this was the better option.

* * *

 **06/10/16: Twenty Terrible Theories**

Hey everyone, it's E350. I'm afraid I couldn't get a full story out today, I was...um... _busy_.

 _"And that...is my 3500 word dissertation...as to why...Bruce Wayne...should be able...to...make out...with...Harvey Dent..."_

 _"Is that an email to Telltale?"_

 _"Somebody has to say this, Turner! The chemistry is there!"_

Yeah, very busy. But I'm not one to disappoint my loyal followers, so I decided to throw this together.

You see, everybody has their own weird theories about TV they watch and books they read, right? So I thought I'd ask around, see what strange ideas everybody has. And without further ado, here are fifty out-there theories about various things. Enjoy!

...yeah, Timmy, roll the Spongebob OST tape.

* * *

 _*insert 'Wheels of Industry' here*_

 _Lancaster Fortress Productions Presents_

 _In Association with and DeviantArt_

 _And the Ministry of Peculiar Suggestions_

 _TWENTY TERRIBLE THEORIES_

We opened to a bench in front of a plain white screen. Jimmy was standing in front of it, mutely talking to somebody off-screen.

"-und is working now? Okay, okay," he said.

He cleared his throat.

"Theory one," he said, "The fairies of Fairy World descend from extraordinarily advanced aliens."

We then cut to the next person - a pattern that continued throughout the film.

"There's a secret government agency that prevents everybody from discovering everything!" declared Dib, "Crystal Gems, sentient fish, ghosts..."

"Tambry's a robot," said Wendy.

"AJ and Tucker are distantly related," suggested Chester, "I mean, it makes sense, they both like tech and..."

"It was all just a dr-" said Patrick.

A fist burst from the left of the screen and punched him in the face.

"The Box Ghost is secretly behind everything," said Sam.

There was a brief pause. Then she burst into laughter.

"...teenage robots, children building weird contraptions," continued Dib, "Why Jimmy can breathe in space..."

"Racoons are spyin' on me!" exclaimed McGucket, clutching his hat.

"Rose is Pink Diamond!" said Ronaldo.

"Oh come on, _really?_ " I asked from off-camera.

"I still believe!" he cried.

"Ducktective marries the Inspector!" bellowed Grenda.

"Doesn't he end up with Fowlette in the finale?" Dipper asked from backstage.

" _NEVER!_ Duckspector forever!" thundered Grenda.

"Right on, girl!" Mabel shouted.

"Tambry's a robot," said Thompson.

"...aliens, monsters, _aliens and monsters!_ " said Dib hysterically, "Dragons, superheroes..."

" _Civil War II_ is just a hot-dog dream," Tucker said, very grumpily.

"Paulette eventually _dies_ ," growled Peridot, "Actually, add to that - Paulette did _Civil War II_."

"My dad will come back..." said Soos brightly.

There was a long silence.

"Oh, Soos, I..."

"...so Mr. Pines can punch him in the face!" he finished.

"That's my Soos!" Stan called from off-screen.

"Tambry's a robot," said Robbie.

"Will you people stop that?!" Tambry shouted from backstage.

Robbie shrugged.

"Mr. Krabs will give me a raise!" said Spongebob.

" _NEVER!_ " we heard Mr. Krabs bellow, even though he wasn't even in the building.

"Funko Pops steal the souls of their owners," suggested Dani, "Also, there's a conspiracy that makes it so you can always find every Pop except the one you want."

" _Ultralord is real!_ " cried Sheen.

"I dunno, shoot," mused Sandy, "Um...maybe Dumbledore made up the prophecy to motivate Harry? Sorry, you just got me on the spot..."

"... _goblins, leprechauns, spoon-people,_ " ranted Dib, slowly being dragged off the set by Timmy, " _IT'S IN REVELATIONS, PEOPLE!_ "

Tambry stood in front of the camera, glaring at the camera with her arms crossed - she did not look impressed.

"Heh," I said from behind the camera, "At this point, the crazy fringe theory would be you _not_ being a robot! It's probably the phone, you know, if you used the phone less you'd..."

Her eyes began to glow red.

A beam shot out of them, hitting the camera. The screen immediately turned to static.

 _THE END!_

 _This presentation is proudly sponsored by the People Resisting International Communism and their Kommissars!_

 _If you need help stopping a Red, make sure to call for a P.R.I-_

 _*film cuts out*_

* * *

AN: Jeez, Tambers, that was a new camera!


	7. 07 10 16: The Back of Beyond

I was a bit busy today, so I spruced up an old unpublished idea I found on my Google Drive. Enjoy!

* * *

 **07/10/16: The** **Back of Beyond**

It was not the first time Stanford Pines had woken up on a concrete floor with a long gap in his memory.

The old man last remembered being aboard the _Stan o' War II_ , taking notes on the latest anomaly he and his brother had found in the deep. Then there was nothing - just blackness, and floating, and the sound of soft singing…

Not important. He had to figure out where he was.

Ford climbed to his feet, muttering to himself as he drew his laser pistol from his coat (and just when had he put his old longcoat back on?). The small garage was nondescript, broken only by shelves full of tools. There was light streaming out underneath the garage door - Ford walked over to it, scratching his head.

"Must've been kidnapped," he told himself, "Although I don't know why they didn't try to chain me up. If they're pirates, they're pretty terrible…"

He tugged on the garage door. He smirked when it budged, and quickly pulled it up over his head. For a second, the light blinded him.

His jaw dropped.

He was standing at the start of a road that descended down a slope and then curved around behind a grassy ridge. Beyond that was a brilliant blue sea - and on the horizon, Ford could make out a great pillar of red light that seemed to ascend into space. It looked nothing like the cold Icelandic seas he and his brother had roamed for the past few months. In fact, the terrain looked very subtropical - southern Queensland, perhaps? - and was covered by a combination of eucalyptus and palm trees.

"Okay, probably not pirates," admitted Ford.

He stepped out of the garage, turning around to take in the building. It was clearly old - a mostly collapsed house stood next to it, the rusting remains of a 1950s car languishing on the lawn. He crept up to the mostly-intact porch, gingerly pushing it open.

"Anybody home?" he called cautiously.

He walked slowly into what looked like it had once been a family room. The furniture had mostly rotted away, but a cabinet in the corner was largely intact. A photo of a man in uniform hung over a ruined fireplace - a plaque labelled him; _CPL Stede Wilson 2/39 Battalion_. For some reason that Ford could not fathom, his face was covered in bandages. It was deeply unsettling.

The cabinet, on the other hand, was unremarkable. There were small mementos of what must have been the soldier's family - empty picture frames, a few medals for service in 'Prussian New Guinea' and 'the Hokkaido Campaign'; there was a fob watch with the letters 'NSWSR' engraved on the case, a small note saying that it was a retirement present from 'your friends and colleagues at Central Station'. At the bottom was a small leather photo album - Ford knelt down and picked it up.

He gingerly opened it - then gasped and nearly threw it across the room.

It was another picture of this Stede Wilson person, now an old man in a station master's uniform. He would be absolutely normal - well-kept uniform, neatly trimmed moustache, half-moon spectacles and pipe - except for his _eyes_. The sockets were empty, and a strange black substance seemed to be leaking from them in all directions. The words ' **GET OUT!** ' scrawled over the bottom half of the photo in what Ford hoped to high heaven was red ink.

He breathed heavily, but quickly regained his composure.

"You've seen worse, Ford," he told himself, "You've seen worse."

He inhaled, focused on his intellect, and turned around.

" **STANFORD, MY OLD PAL!** " exclaimed Bill, extending his arms.

Ford screamed, hurling the photo album at the dream demon. It crashed through him, turning him into black smoke which quickly faded. Ford bolted out the door, racing down the road. The only thing on his mind was escape - escape from Bill, escape from the house, escape from his past.

It was some time before the adrenaline ran out and Ford slowed to a halt. He had run some way down the cliff road, and was now outside a rustic fifties diner. It seemed open - a waitress was wiping down the counter of the empty establishment.

Ford was wary, but he needed to know where he was. He was willing to risk another nasty shock.

He walked nervously in the door. The waitress looked up and smiled - she was young, and while she wasn't thin she was pretty all the same. Her brown hair was tied into a bun.

"Uh, good afternoon, ma'am," said Ford, walking up to the counter.

The waitress nodded.

"Help to welcome can Diner, you Rodney's sir, how I?" she asked brightly in a light Virginian brogue.

Ford blinked, confused.

"Wrong, is sir there something?" asked the waitress, looking concerned as she tilted her head.

"I...uh...no, ma'am, I...I just wanted to know where I am, actually," replied Ford, scratching the back of his head.

"Diner Rodney's, sir. Of miles about Port Wentworth two out. Doctor, need sir a do you?"

"No thanks, I think I'll be fine," replied Ford, hoping he had the gist of what she'd said.

"A at you least let sir, get me lemonade," insisted the waitress, pouring a drink of lemonade into a glass, "The house on."

"That-that's very kind of you ma'am," Ford said sincerely, "I...thank you."

He took the drink to one of the tables. Despite the... _odd_ dialect, she seemed harmless, and Ford had long learned not to judge a person by how they spoke. That encounter with the Screeching Missionaries of Dimension 32 had been an eye-opener.

He thought hard over his drink. Right now, he had no real idea of where on Earth he was, although he was starting to suspect that he was not, in fact, on Earth. Neither did he have any idea where Stanley was - hopefully back on the boat, but Ford doubted his luck was that good.

"Amberley!" bellowed a deep voice.

An empty suit had emerged from the back. By this, Ford did not mean that he was a nondescript businessman - this was a literal empty grey pinstripe suit with a silk tie and floating fedora, waving it's empty sleeve at the waitress.

"Sir, Rodney Mr!" exclaimed the waitress, who Ford now guessed was named Amberley.

"Don't 'cha Sir Rodney Mistah me, girl!" bellowed the suit, "Ya know I can't handle yer way a' talkin' at the best a' times, see? Why the heck ain't ya cleanin' that damn counter?"

"Sorry, to had I sir customer, sir serve I'm a!" replied Amberley, nervously.

"I don't want sorry!" bellowed the suit, "I want this counter so damn clean that I can see my face in it! Get back to work!"

The suit slammed the back door shut.

It then reopened it.

"That was rhetorical, see?" it clarified.

It slammed the door shut again.

Ford scowled. Having finished his lemonade, he marched over to the counter, reaching into his pocket and throwing twenty dollars onto the counter.

"A symbol of my appreciation," he said, "Heaven knows that man won't give one."

"Sir! Accept I can't possibly…"

"Call me Ford," replied Ford, "And please - I won't miss it."

Amberley smiled, her eyes glistening a little.

"Then you Ford thank much very," she said, "Means a me to this lot!"

"It's my pleasure, Amberley," replied Ford, walking to the door, "My pleasure."

* * *

All in all, it had been a very mixed day.

Ford had made it to the beach - a sandy, almost idyllic place, especially now that the sun was setting. He was gathering wood along the treeline with the intention of making a campfire before he decided on his next move.

He was just grabbing a few sticks from under a larger tree when a branch suddenly fell on his head.

"Augh, darn it!" he hissed.

Rubbing his head, he looked up. He could have sworn that he could see a shape in the tree.

"Who's there?" he called.

There was a short silence.

"Ugh...nobody!" came the reply.

Ford put a hand on his hip. It sounded like a teenager.

"Doesn't _sound_ like nobody," he replied, "Come on down, kid! I won't bite!"

"I...uh...there's two reasons I can't do that, sir!" the kid replied, "The first is, uh, I don't trust you! And the second is...the _main_ reason is...I've been stuck up here all day."

"I can fix that," replied Ford, "Will that make you trust me?"

"Uh...sure, if that means I can come down...sure!"

"Okay, brace yourself," said Ford.

"Wait, what do you mean _brace myself?_ "

Ford shook the tree hard. He stepped back as he heard the boy yelp, and flawlessly caught him as he fell down.

The boy was lanky, dressed in a brown sweater vest and navy pants. His brown hair was messy and his eyes were just a little haggard. He reminded Ford a lot of Dipper.

"There, done," nodded Ford, smirking.

"I think I nearly had a heart attack," wheezed the boy.

"You'll survive."

The boy's name was Wirt. He was a fifteen year old boy from some suburb in Middle America, and like Ford, he had a gap in his memory before waking up here. Ford knew from his demeanour and his comparative lack of surprise that the boy had experienced the weird before, but he didn't press for information. There would be time enough for that later.

Wirt was laid in the sand next to the fire, looking up at a starry sky that was beautiful but made no sense to Ford. The old man himself was scribbling down notes into a journal, occasionally glancing around to ensure nobody was coming for them.

"Hey, Dr. Pines?"

"It's Ford, kid," replied Ford, "But what's your question?"

"What do you reckon that red light is?" asked Wirt.

Ford sat up, gazing at the distant stream of light. His eyes narrowed.

"I don't know, Wirt," he replied, "But I reckon the key to getting out of here will involve finding out."

"Well," replied Wirt, "We're gonna need a boat. Heh, what could go wrong with that?"

He laid back down, and Ford heard him utter a verse.

"The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,  
The furrow followed free,

We were the first that ever burst,

Into that silent sea…"

* * *

 _Day One_

 _I am a stranger in a strange land. My only companion is a boy called Wirt, who reminds me a bit of Dipper._

 _Although most of my interactions today were harmless, and I do hope that Amberley finds herself new employment, the encounter at the old house troubles me. Was that truly Bill Cipher? Is there another dark influence on this island, and if so, how does it know of Bill? Is this Stede Wilson important? Is this all just a red herring?_

 _I believe more will be revealed with time, although I'm also not sure how much I want to know…_

* * *

AN: This was going somewhere but I can't actually remember where. Sorry!


	8. 08 10 16: Choose Your Own Ending

I'm actually pretty happy with this one. I need to do more of these paragraph-long anthology ones.

* * *

 **08/10/16: Choose Your Own Ending**

 _I never read Choose Your Own Adventure books properly. I just skipped through them and read all the endings. One thing I tended to notice was that a lot of these books had endings that were exceptionally strange out of context (or even_ in _context). I found that very funny on occasion, so for today's event, here's a collection of made up Choose Your Own Adventure endings, for you to try and work out how in the hell a story might have ended up here._

 _The numbers are basically fluff, referring to the 'turn to page x' you always saw in those books. No need to read them in any order, except maybe top-to-bottom._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

 **5**

Danny and Sam run through the door, only to find themselves surrounded by a company of Italian Blackshirt troopers.

"Okay, note to self," says Sam, "Never let you time travel again."

"Noted," sighs Danny.

They turn around, only for more Italian soldiers to burst out the door they came from.

"Um..." says Danny, raising his arms, "Parley?"

As he stares down the barrels of the soldiers' rifles, Danny cannot help but get a suspicion that this is

 **THE END**

* * *

 **22**

You decide to fight the Bunyip.

The next morning, you are reported missing. The police search for you, but they eventually call off the search. Your brother claims your stuff.

Inside his den, the Bunyip has himself an excellent breakfast.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **42**

"I can't believe it!" exclaims Timmy, "We found out the meaning of life!"

"It seems a bit lame after all the effort we put into thinking about it," says Cosmo.

"We have to tell everyone!" declares Wanda, "We have to let everybody know that the meaning of life is-"

Suddenly, the Men in Black burst into Timmy's room. They draw their stun guns and everything goes dark.

Timmy spends the rest of his life in a top-secret base. It's not actually that bad. They treat him like a son, and when he gets old enough he is inducted into the Men in Black as Agent T.

None of his partners can ever work out where he gets his equipment from; only that they all seem to be pink, green and purple.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **34**

You show the alien the internet.

It is full of porn.

His head explodes.

You have saved the Earth.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **76**

They all turn out to be dogs or something.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **51**

Just as the vampires are about to drain Spongebob, the door bursts open.

Sandy bursts into the shed. She is carrying a Tommy Gun, which she fires into the mass of vampires. Count Napoleon screams as he is destroyed by the silver bullets.

" _Noooooooooooooooooonnn!_ "

As he burns to a crisp, Sandy frees Spongebob from his bonds.

"Wow, thanks!" he says, "I can't believe there was a society of Age of Enlightenment-era vampires under Bikini Bottom all this time!"

"Yeah, tell me about it," nods Sandy, "Wonder how they got here..."

High above them, a US government schooner dumps crates full of zombies and nuclear waste into the sea.

"Doesn't this violate the Kyoto Accords?" asks a sailor.

The captain shrugs.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **109**

But in the end, the real treasure was the friends Mr. Krabs had made along the way.

...no, actually, it was the gold.

It was definitely the gold.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **94**

Garnet punches Hitler in the face.

The Führer rolls on the floor, clutching his broken nose, as the other Crystal Gems quickly defeat his SS guards. Amethyst slams Albert Speer's face into the table. Goebbels steps back to avoid Connie's sword, trips, and falls out the window.

Pearl grabs the bubbled gem from an SS officer's arms before kicking him to the ground. She throws it to Steven.

Peridot prepares the time-travel device as Hitler climbs to his feet.

"You can't do this!" he screams, "I am the Führer!"

"We can," replies Steven, "Because we're the Crystal Gems!"

"And we're going for pizzas," adds Lapis.

They disappear, bound for the future. Hitler begins a tantrum that will end with him chewing on the carpet.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **63**

Timmy and I stare as the woman and girl jump into my car.

"Sorry!" calls F350, "But we need to stop Professor Calamita and Handsome Goodlooking from taking over your dimension!"

"We'll bring what's left of it back!" adds Timantha.

They speed off, leaving us on the driveway.

"...you what," I say, flatly.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **83**

You and your partner walk away from the house, leaving the confused but safe family behind. Agent Corduroy puts her axe back in the trunk, fixes her tie and climbs in the driver's seat. You climb into the passenger seat and mop your brow.

"Well, that's the gremlins dealt with," she says, "One more thing left to do before the Bureau wants us back to report."

"What's that?" you ask.

"There's an alien ecology that's taken over a house not far from here," replied Wendy, starting the car, "FBI gave it the codename 'Loud'. Dipper and Mabel are supposed to be handling it, but I thought they could use back-up."

"Okay," you nod, "Let's go."

As Wendy drives away, you wonder what the rest of your career for the FBI's Supernatural Office is going to look like.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **111**

You picked the wrong tunnel!

As you pull yourself out of the Yangtze River, you wonder how much plane tickets home are going to cost. In any case, you know that for your adventure, this is

 **THE END**

* * *

 **59**

Dipper and Mabel wash Stan's car of gunk from the slime monster. They are paid five dollars.

As they head up to their room, Dipper has a thought.

"Where do you think that thing came from?" he asks.

"I dunno, space or something?" suggests Mabel.

"Kids!" Stan calls from downstairs, "Me and Soos are gonna go dump the Shack's food scraps in the runoff! Be back in fifteen!"

The kids look at each other.

"...were we fighting our _garbage?_ " he asks.

Mabel shudders.

"I'm taking a shower," she says.

"I'm burning my clothes," nods Dipper.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **105**

Jimmy decides he really should have suspected that Carl and Sheen would eventually get them marooned in another dimension. He just never thought it would be the sentient T-shirt realm.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **25**

You realise that you were the turkey all along.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **122**

E350 remembers that one Choose Your Own Adventure ending where the main character ends up in a place where everyone constantly ages back and forth from baby to old man in seconds at all times. He decides he can't possibly top that one.

"The eighties were a weird time," he says, "You reckon they were scared into insanity by the threat of nuclear war?"

"That would explain some of the fashion," shrugs Dani, who is sitting on my porch for no reason.

"It would," he nods.

He supposes that for this shot, he'll have to call it

 **THE END**

* * *

AN: Okay, week one of HU has passed us, and it's time for a contest update!

I've decided to give everybody two weeks on each word, so _Reboot_ will still be open for submissions until the coming Friday. There's one strong entry in already and I hope to see some more.

In any case, this week's word is going to be **Encounter**. Good luck!


	9. 09 10 16: A Living

Oh my god, it's an actual _horror_ 'shot.

* * *

 **09/10/16: A Living**

In October 1929, the American economy suddenly crashed. It marked the beginning of the single worst economic downturn in world history - the Great Depression.

All aspects of American society were affected by this disaster. Fortunes were wiped out overnight. Thousands and thousands of workers in mines and factories were laid off, farmers could not sell produce (and to make matters worse, massive amounts of them would lose their farms to the Dust Bowl of the mid-thirties).

President Herbert Hoover, although he personally believed in personal self-reliance and limited government intervention, did make attempts to alleviate the crisis. Public works were begun to employ the destitute workers - among them, the great Hoover Dam. However, the man's firm belief in balance budgets and a lack of any real effect seen from his programs turned the nation against him. Across the country, shantytowns of poor workers were disparagingly named 'Hoovervilles'.

There were many Hoovervilles of varying complexities across the United States. The most infamous one was that of the 'Bonus Expeditionary Force', a movement of broke First World War-veterans asking for their pensions which was crushed under the boots of General MacArthur's soldiers. Other large settlements were established in St Louis and Central Park, where they even had their own mayors, post offices and other amenities.

This Hooverville wasn't quite so intricate.

It was built alongside the railway line in an open lot between the industrial and commercial districts of the city. It housed about six dozen people in spartan accommodation. Some of them had found work for pennies at local factories and construction sites, but most had nowhere to go. It was the smallest of the many shantytowns in the city, and the least well-known, but it was a functional community nonetheless.

There was one problem.

Lately, people had begun to disappear.

Every other night, somebody vanished from Hooverville without a trace. The police were contacted, but they did very little to help. Only after it became absolutely clear that the disappearances (and the complaints) weren't going to stop did the District Attorney decide to send an investigator.

Danny Fenton was the DA's Investigator for this case. His family had gotten off lightly, as far as the Depression went - they'd had to tighten their belts, but they still had a house and jobs, so he counted himself lucky. The people here, though - Danny passed a man under a 'Hoover Blanket' (an old newspaper) on his way into Hooverville and shook his head.

The head honcho at Hooverville was a man named Damon Grey. He was a large man, formerly a security guard before the Crash lost him his work. He protected Hooverville, and anybody who invaded it had to answer to him. This was probably why he was so disturbed about being unable to find what was taking his people.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Mr. Fenton," he said, as he met Danny in his shack at the centre of Hooverville, "This has gotten me very, very spooked."

They talked for some time about the problem, and it was eventually decided that Danny would hide next to the entrance of Hooverville overnight, waiting for the assailants.

That night, as Danny hid behind a crate next to the road, he saw the kidnapper - a big man in a mask, dragging an inebriated man into a beaten up Model T. They drove off into the industrial district - Danny followed in his own car.

He tailed them to an old meat-packing plant not far down the road - Danny recalled that it had been converted into a soup kitchen, where beef soup was supplied to the poor at the cost of a dime each. It was considered vital to the community - neither the city council nor the Mob showed any interest in feeding the poor themselves, and the Mayor had once privately told the DA that he hoped to starve out the city's Hoovervilles.

Danny watched the masked man enter a back door to the plant, waited exactly two minutes, and crept inside.

He entered into a small corridor, an office door on each side. Beyond lay the steel doors to the factory. There was a faint 'off' smell from the doors.

"Must be cooking rotten meat," Danny muttered to himself.

He drew his gun and his badge and opened the left office door.

"Ah, so you're the detective?"

The woman behind the desk was young, barely out of her teens. She wore one of those flapper dresses that had become popular in the Twenties, and carried an expensive-looking pipe. She had red hair styled into a ponytail and pink eyes - the sign on her desk read 'Vicky'.

"How did you know?" demanded Danny, pointing the barrel of the gun at her chest.

"You're not as good at tailing as you think," shrugged Vicky, "Francis could see you a mile away."

Danny cursed under his breath.

"So, kidnapping the poor, are we?" he demanded.

"Puttin' 'em to use," replied Vicky.

"Ah, _labour_ ," nodded Danny.

"You could say that."

He stepped forward, headed for the desk drawers. He kept the gun pointed at Vicky's chest. He opened the first draw - it was full of one-dollar bills.

"Hmm...a lot of money for the times," he said.

"I have expensive tastes," nodded Vicky, smoothly.

Danny opened the bottom drawer and whistled.

"Reckon the Auto-Ordnance Company wouldn't like that you have this," he noted, "They're trying to rebrand them as 'anti-bandit guns'.

He reached into the draw and pulled out a Thompson.

"What they don't know won't hurt them," shrugged Vicky.

"Heh," snorted Danny, "Well, when in Rome."

He holstered his gun and pointed the Thompson at Vicky instead.

"Now, you're gonna show me where you took the people," he snapped.

"I've got a better idea," replied Vicky, "How about you go home and forget about all this. For your sakes."

Danny narrowed his eyes and cocked the gun.

Vicky sighed. "Your loss."

She led Danny into the corridor and towards the doors. She smiled at him and pulled a lever, causing them to slide open.

A putrid smell filled Danny's nose and he fought the urge to vomit. Ahead of him were lines and lines of carcasses, attached by the backs of their heads to meat hooks. They were most assuredly not cows, and as Danny stared at them he was filled with a deep, visceral horror.

"You're feeding people _dogs?!_ " he exclaimed.

"What do you expect?" asked Vicky, "Beef is expensive and strays are everywhere. Everybody's doing it, detective."

"It's _reprehensible!_ " thundered Danny.

"Oh, grow up," grunted Vicky, "It's _cheap_. Anyway, you wanted your homeless people? Come on."

Danny followed Vicky through the floor, trying not to vomit as the smell of rotting meat filled his nose. There was another smell now - a strange, _wrong_ smell that he couldn't quite place.

"We got lucky on this one," admitted Vicky, "US Army were dumping it in big pits outside the city. They just left it there, unguarded - city didn't do anything about it because it was next to a black neighbourhood and they didn't care enough."

"What did they dump?"

"Failed chemical weapon," replied Vicky, "They wanted to make it a gas but the War ended before it was ready. They ended up with this acidic sludge."

"And what does this 'sludge' do?" demanded Danny, as they arrived at a second door.

"Simple, Detective," replied Vicky.

She threw open the door.

"It melts things."

Danny's jaw dropped.

At the centre of the room was a large, bubbling vat of chemicals. Above it was a collection of cages handing from the roof - the bottom of these cages was bowl shaped, and inside each of them was a human body, shackled by the arms to the cage roof. Each body was decayed, and as Danny looked closer, he realised that _globs_ \- there was no other word - of the bodies were dripping down into the bowl. From the right-most cage, Danny could hear groaning - clearly the man Francis had kidnapped hadn't been killed before he was...well, _melted._

"Mother of god," said Danny, his face turning pale.

"You get more out of the human body if you melt it than if you cut it up," said Vicky, nodding, "And it doesn't cost a dime. We have no upkeep, the poor have their cheap soup, everybody wins!"

"You...you...I'm shutting this down, now!" snarled Danny, pointing the gun at Vicky's head, "They'll give you the Chair for this!"

"Over some homeless nobodies?" demanded Vicky, "No way. Besides, you'd be killing far, far more people than I did if you take me in."

"How?" growled Danny.

"This city has no soup kitchens, no welfare, no support," replied Vicky, "Only meals anybody here gets in a day come from my kitchen. You close that down, you're gonna kill...what, two dozen people to every abductee? How can you justify that?"

"How can you justify this?!" demanded Danny, "And don't tell me you _care_ about those people! You just want the money!"

He thrust the gun into Vicky's forehead so that the barrel rested on her skin.

"I don't have time for your half-baked moral quandary," he snarled, "I'm taking you in."

To his surprise, Vicky closed her eyes and smiled.

"Only trying to make a living, Detective," she said, "Only trying to make a living."

Danny felt the barrel of a gun at the back of his head and realised he'd forgotten about Francis.

* * *

"...no, no, you're doing good work. He would have gone to the Feds anyway. We don't have time for that."

...

"Ah, you don't need to thank me, just send me a can. Just...just keep the dog meat out. I've got some good pork that'll go with it."

...

"Uh-huh."

...

"Yes, I'll tell the Mayor."

...

"You too, Vicky. Have a good day."

The District Attorney sat back in his chair, relaxing. Another problematic case had been closed, another problematic individual was off the streets, and nobody was the wiser.

* * *

 _In 1935, the FBI closed down the meat-packing plant and arrest Vicky and Francis. Vicky would get the Chair, while Francis spent the rest of his life at Alcatraz._

 _Although J Edgar Hoover had his suspicions, he was never able (or perhaps willing) to arrest the Mayor and the DA. They retired wealthy men and died peacefully._

 _Nobody ever saw Danny Fenton again._

* * *

AN: The 'half-baked moral quandary' thing was a dig at the trolley problem btw.


	10. 10 10 16: The Prime Ministers

Pee-Ems.

* * *

 **10/10/16: The Prime Ministers (Since 1900)**

 _Due to poor health, my intended 'shot for today is going to need to be moved to Wednesday. Instead, here's another sardonic list of world leaders, in the vein of 'The Presidents' in HU5. Ladies and gentlemen, these are the Prime Ministers of Great Britain and Northern Ireland since the turn of the Twentieth Century. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _The Marquess of Salisbury (1895-1902)_ \- The last member of the House of Lords to hold office as Prime Minister (while still in the House of Lords). He fought the Boer and the Boer won (well, no they didn't but that pun was too good to pass up).

 _Arthur Balfour (1902-1905) -_ Finally buried the hatchet with France. The King didn't like him very much.

 _Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman (1905-1908)_ \- First Prime Minister to actually be called Prime Minister. Allied with Russia, all the cool powers were making opposing alliances. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

 _Herbert Henry Asquith (1908-1916) -_ Plans for Irish Home Rule torpedoed by the minor incident of the First World War. String of military and polictical difficulties leads to the fall of his government. First 20th century PM not to have a nice 'stache.

 _David Lloyd George (1916-1922) -_ Won the First World War with a little help from some French and American people, but apparently no help from his generals considering he spent the rest of his life constantly slagging them off. Enfranchised everybody over thirty and let the Irish go.

 _Andrew Bonar Law (1922-1923)_ \- It's _Bonner_ Law, dammit.

 _Stanley Baldwin (1923-1924)_ \- GET READY FOR PRIME MINISTERIAL MUSICAL CHAIRS EVERYBODY.

 _Ramsey MacDonald (1924)_ \- Lasted less than a year because he couldn't get a majority.

 _Stanley Baldwin (1924-1929)_ \- Back again, this time for longer. Enfranchised all women over 21, but is mainly remembered for that time everybody went on strike in '26.

 _Ramsey MacDonald (1929-1935)_ \- **You were the chosen one! You were supposed to destroy the Conservatives, not join them! You were supposed to bring balance to the distribution of wealth, not leave it in darkness!** \- every Labour supporter ever.

 _Stanley Baldwin (1935-1937)_ \- Didn't do much, which generally fits the consistent image of Stanley Baldwin.

 _Neville Chamberlain (1937-1940)_ \- Somewhat unfairly maligned for appeasing to Hitler. Considering the British Army consisted of three guys and a tractor for most of the 1930s, he wasn't that stupid to do so. In the end, appeasement and the failed campaign in Norway finished him.

 _Winston Churchill (1940-1945)_ \- Needs no introduction.

 _Clement Attlee (1945-1951)_ \- Nationalised the railways, nationalised the coal companies, revitalised the nation, created the National Health Service, cured cancer, ended world hunger, defeated Galactus with his bare hands. Also his defence ministry accidently gave Stalin jet engines but we all make mistakes. 10/10 would Attlee again.

 _Winston Churchill (1951-1955)_ \- WINSTON IS BACK but not a lot happens, so okay then.

 _Anthony Eden (1955-1957)_ \- That incompetent who lost Suez.

 _Harold Macmillan (1957-1963)_ \- Saw the writing on the wall and turned the government's focus from holding onto the collapsing Empire to joining the European Economic Community. What a good idea! Hopefully nobody would ever jeopardise this.

 _Sir Alec Douglas-Home (1863-1964) -_ Existed, presumably.

 _Harold Wilson (1964-1970)_ \- Sent troops into Northern Ireland, which in retrospect might not have been the best idea. Decriminalised homosexuality, though, so it balances out.

 _Edward Heath (1970-1974)_ \- Finally got into the EEC, because Charles de Gaulle was too dead to reject Britain again. Decided that it was a good idea to use heavily armed elite paratroopers for riot control, with depressingly predictable results. Oversaw the switch to decimal currency.

 _Harold Wilson (1974-1976) -_ Back for a while, just long enough for Mi6 agents to suspect him of working for the KGB.

 _James Callaghan (1976-1979)_ \- Much like the other major James of the late 1970s, premiership coincided with financial downturns which were probably beyond his control but for which he was blamed anyway.

 _Margaret Thatcher (1979-1990)_ \- Living proof of that timeless Voltaire maxim; 'it's so easy when you're evil.'

 _John Major (1990-1997)_ \- John Major was _*slams head into keyboard, having instantly fallen asleep at the thought of John Major.*_

 _Tony Blair (1997-2007)_ \- Controversial no comment next please.

 _Gordon Brown (2007-2010)_ \- Literally a cartoon caricature of a dour Scottish banker. Owner of the most terrifying smile in Great Britain.

 _David Cameron (2010-2016) -_ You had one job.

 _Theresa May (2016-?)_ \- Um...no comment.

* * *

AN: See, America doesn't have a monopoly on weird politicians!


	11. 11 10 16: Person of Interest

Who up for more plot?

* * *

 **11/10/16: Person of Interest**

His name was Maxim Gottfried, and he was something of an expert at what he did. It just so happened that what he did was spy on people.

He had been picked up by his current employers after his unceremonious dismissal from the NSA - his department head had been caught passing secrets to the black market and his underlings were no longer considered trustworthy by Washington. Not that it mattered - his new bosses paid him twice as much as the government and their equipment was years ahead of them, and all he had to do to get these perks was not ask questions.

This was easier said than done, to be honest. His employers clearly didn't like to be seen in public - only one of them, a man who called himself Major Wilkus, ever came out to give him instructions, and he was tight-lipped about what the organisation did. All he did was give him a list of names and tell him to listen in on them.

This particular mission had Gottfried stationed at a small apartment across the road from Amity Park City Hall. Wilkus had told him that one of the organisation's assets was suspected to be compromised - they had to know for sure, so Gottfried had been ordered to listen to his phone calls.

Waiting for the right phone call involved a lot of waiting for Gottfried. He had sat at his desk for hours, a long-emptied pizza box next to him, anticipating the right conversation. He'd had to listen to every inane phone call coming out of the building without getting what he called 'the money.' But he was patient. He could wait.

He heard ringing - clearly somebody was making a call. He listened carefully - this could be it.

" _Stanford Pines._ "

" _Mayor Masters. I need to discuss the assets I received._ "

Gottfried raised an eyebrow. 'Assets' could mean anything, but it was a key-word they'd trained him to notice at the NSA.

" _...last you called me, Mr. Masters, you told me you weren't interested in working with me_ ," the other man - Stanford, clearly - replied.

" _The situation has changed,_ " replied Vlad, " _My benefactors have given me a report that I am not too keen on._ "

There was a long silence.

" _We shouldn't discuss this over the phone,_ " said Stanford, warily.

" _I agree completely,_ " said Vlad, " _We need to meet in person, I think. I have an apartment in St. Johns. Just ask at the visitor's centre, I'll have a man to lead you there._ "

" _...and this is in good faith._ "

" _Stanford, please! I am an honest man, I deal_ only _in good faith!_ "

" _Fine. Meet me there on Thursday. We'll discuss the matter there._ "

" _It's been a pleasure._ "

" _Uh-huh. Goodbye, Mr. Masters._ "

The call ended.

Gottfried pressed a button on his equipment, starting his own call.

"Major Wilkus, it's Gottfried," he said.

" _Go ahead._ "

"Masters is in communication with another individual, a...Stanford Pines," replied Gottfried, "Do you know him?"

" _We know_ of _him,_ " replied Wilkus, " _This is what I needed, Gottfried. Stay where you are, we'll handle this._ "

Gottfried nodded, taking off his headphones and walking over to the window. Curiosity had taken the better of him - he needed to see what he was working for.

A minute later, there was a loud crashing noise. City Hall went dark as the power went out, and seconds later, a helicopter roared into view.

* * *

Vlad furrowed his brow as his office went dark.

He stood up from his desk and turned to the window. The windows of the buildings across the road were still lit - somebody had cut the power to City Hall and City Hall alone.

He turned his back and pressed a button on his desk, activating a radio communication link with his security.

"Gentlemen, could you explain what exactly is going on?"

" _Sorry, Mr. Mayor, we're not sure. Could be the fuse box._ "

"Well, find out. I need to make a few calls and-"

The window shattered.

Four men rappelled into the room. Each was dressed in a black uniform. They were heavily armoured, with Kevlar helmets that looked eerily similar to those of an SS soldier. They aimed silenced submachine guns at Vlad's chest - the laser pointers on the barrels making ominous red spots on his suit. One man advanced threateningly towards him

"This is Cobalt One, target secure!" he into his radio.

"Oh, we'll see about that," snarled Vlad.

He clenched his fist and made to punch him.

The soldier fired a single round into his chest, and Vlad faltered. He fell to the ground, clutching the wound. Looking down, he noticed a faint green glow coming from his chest - the round was infused with ectoplasm.

"...what?" he demanded.

"Should'a been more careful with your phone calls, Plasmius," sneered the soldier, "Your ass belongs to PURITY now."

Vlad narrowed his eyes.

"Wilkus gave me his word," he snarled, "That you would not..."

"And you took me at face value?"

The door flew open.

Major Wilkus swaggered into the room, flanked by two men with large rifles. He was a short and skinny man, decked out in a black dress uniform with the shirt and tie replaced by a high-collar sweater. Jackboots clicked on the floor as he advanced on his prey, the expression on his bony face a predatory smile.

"Purity is _purity_ , freak," he spat, "Humanity for the humans, not filthy half-breeds. General Rausseman never cared about how much money or power you had, Masters! You're an asset, a person of interest who has outlived his usefulness. Speaking of..."

He turned to one of his bodyguards.

"Maxim Gottfried. He's in the apartment across the road, third floor, second window from left," he said, "He knows too much."

"Yes sir."

He strode up to the window, aimed his rifle and fired. Across the road, a window shattered and a silhouetted form fell.

"Now, let's get out of here before the uniforms appear," ordered Wilkus.

He walked up to Vlad, who spat in his face as he leaned in close.

"Nothing personal, Mr. Mayor," he said, "It's just that your kind sicken me."

By the time the police arrived, the PURITY team was long gone.

* * *

"... _kidnapped overnight from City Hall. Two security guards were injured in the confrontation and local resident Maxim Gottfried is believed to have been shot dead from the window of the Mayor's office. We'll keep you updated as the situation unfolds. I'm Harriet Chin, back to you..._ "

Danny crossed his arms and he and Jazz watched the news in the living room.

"Who'd want to kidnap Vlad?" asked Jazz.

"Maybe he finally crossed the wrong person," replied Danny, "Anyway, whoever it is, I'm gonna find them."

"Not even tempted to just leave it, huh?" asked Jazz, eyebrow raised.

"Hey, I don't have to _like_ the people I help," shrugged Danny.

He turned back to the news.

"Now, where to start..."

" _...Police Chief has indicated that a group by the name of PURITY may have performed the deed..._ "

* * *

AN: Turns out helping villains off the books is bad for your health.


	12. 12 10 16: Spell Man

A good song now and then is good for the soul.

* * *

 **12/10/16: Spell Man**

It's a lovely evening at that most upmarket of establishments - Albuquerque Holiday Inn (where the towels are oh so fluffy). It's also a special one - the restaurant has been set up to receive an unusual guest. A magician has come.

"Guests are all seated, sir," says Waylon Smithers, walking up to the majority shareholder of the hotel, Monty Burns.

" _Excellent_ ," nods Mr. Burns, "And, uh, who is this magician, Smithers?"

"A gentlemen we found on Craigslist, sir," replies Smithers, "His profile claims that he's talented but slightly megalomaniacal, with a flair for the dramatic."

"And who recommended him?"

"Some guy in a white shirt and tie," shrugs Smithers.

"Well, as long as he excites the crowd!" says Mr. Burns, "And brings in the money."

"If it helps, sir, I had a private company insure the guests," explains Smithers, "Anything goes wrong, we won't have to pay a cent."

" _Eeeexcellent._ "

The lights dim, and the crowd stops talking.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a man says over the PA, "The moment you've all be waiting for...the one...the only...the...Bob? Bob, what's his name? Okay, thanks...the Spell Man!"

There is a puff of smoke on the stage in front of the guests. When it clears, a man stands before them. He wears a black suit, a black tie, a black fedora and black shades.

"Smithers, is that a reference to something?" asks Mr. Burns.

"Legally, I'm not allowed to answer that," says Smithers.

The man reaches into his suit jacket. The crowd flinches, but relaxes when the man reveals that it's just a wand.

"Let's liven this place up a bit," he says.

He raises the wand. There is another poof of smoke, and when it clears, a band has appeared at the side of the stage.

"Hit it!"

The band begins to play a tune. The man grins, stepping forward. He begins to sing...

 _Coming to you...on a dusty road..._

He takes over his hat, and a flock of pigeons fly from it.

 _Magic, baby...I got a wand load..._

He tosses his wand between hands.

 _So when you're needin'...a little change..._

He points the wand towards the audience, putting his hat back on with his other hand.

 _Don't worry...'cause I'm on the range._

He jumps down into the audience, walking past the tables.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He flicks his wand at Timmy - there's a flash, and he instantly turns into Timantha.

"What?!" she exclaims, looking down at herself.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He throws his wand to his other hand and blasts a table. The people are it are turned to stone.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He spins on the spot as flicks his wand in the direction of Pacifica, sitting at a table with Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Wendy. She morphs and shrinks, turning into a small vinyl Funko Pop.

"Paz!" exclaims Mabel.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He smirks and chuckles.

 _And that ain't all!_

He turns to Homer Simpson, who is oblivious to everything happening and about to bite into a chicken drumstick. He points his wand.

 _Eatin' chicken? Now it's alive!_

With a poof, the drumstick turns into a live chicken, wriggling in Homer's hand. He screams and falls backwards on his chair. Lisa smirks.

 _Dealin' karma...now that's my jive!_

He flicks his wand towards Lisa, turning her mouth into a beak. As she begins to squawk in shock, Bart laughs at her.

 _Take a look...at what's in the soup..._

He raises his wand. Tentacles emerge from all bowls of soup in the room, reaching for whoever happens to be dining on it.

 _Ain't half fun...when I'm in your group! Ha!_

Behind him, Soos and Wendy creep up in an attempt to subdue him.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He turns around, pointing the wand at Soos. His arms and legs retract into his body, causing him to fall forward and roll off into the tables.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He dodges a punch from Wendy and jabs the wand into her stomach. She is instantly blasted back, landing right on top of Dipper, who is frantically checking the journal.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He points the wand at her again. She and Dipper turn two-dimensional and are pressed into the pages of the journal, becoming illustrations on the page.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

The Spell Man does a twist and dances on the spot, either not noticing or not caring for the fear of the patrons. As he does, he quickly zaps Spongebob, Patrick and Squidward into humans - Squidward screams.

 _I was brought up...in another world..._

"Smithers, release the hounds," snaps Mr. Burns.

 _Where through the buildings...the magic twirled..._

"We can't, sir, this isn't your mansion," replies Smithers.

 _First did my magic...at Woodstock..._

"Hmm...I think a back door escape sounds good," nods Mr. Burns.

"Yes sir."

 _Now I make chaos...around the clock!_

Mr. Burns and Smithers slip out a back door as the front door bursts open. The Crystal Gems burst in, weapons ready. The Spell Man grins.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He ducks a blast from Pearl's spear and zaps her, turning her into a fibreglass mannequin.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

He grabs Amethyst's whip and points his wand at it. An electrical current runs down the wand, blasting Amethyst and sending her flying out the window.

 _I'm a Spell Man, yeah!_

He ducks a punch from Garnet, rolls to the side and points his wand again. Garnet splits in two, defused into Ruby and Sapphire.

 _I'm a Spell Man!_

Without flinching, he flicks his wand again. They both fly into opposite walls and are shackled to them by iron chains.

 _Be a pauper...or be a king..._

He points his wand at Chester McBadbat and Trixie Tang, both of whom have made a run for the door. They lift into the air, turning to face him.

 _Give yourselves...and I'll turn you into weird things!_

Chester morphs into a pug, while Trixie's head falls off, rolling onto the ground. Her body drops a second later.

"Ouch!"

The Spell Man dances through a brief instrumental interlude, before reaching out his wand and beginning to spin.

 _I'm a Spell Man, I'm a Spell Man..._

The remaining patrons, all making a break for the door, turn into jelly as the wand passes them.

 _I'm a Spell Man, I'm a Spell Man..._

The band prepares for a final note.

 _"I'm a Spell Maaaaaa-_ oof!"

Somebody has clobbered him over the back of the head with a plate, knocking him out.

"I-I did it! I beat the magician!"

Blendin Blandin cheers, doing a slightly dorky little dance on the spot. He slowly stops as he realises almost everyone in the room has already been transformed in some way.

"...and nobody saw it," he sighs.

"I did, dude!" says Soos, rolling by, "You were awesome!"

"You the man, Blando!" says Mabel, bouncing up to him. She's a mermaid now, which would be surprising in literally any other situation.

"Can somebody please find my body?!" demands Trixie, her head perched on the welcome mat.

"Ugh...what did I miss?" asks Amethyst, rubbing her head as she climbs in the window.

"Aw, somebody saw me be a hero?" says Blendin, blushing a little as he smiles, "Aw geez, this feels so...not terrible!"

He surveys the scene.

"Oh...but how do we clean this up?" he asks, scratching his head.

"We'll take it from here."

A squad of Men in Black walk in the door, one of them carrying a book entitled ' _Guidebook for Cleaning Up After Magician Rampages 34th Edition_.'

Blendin sighs in relief.

* * *

"Okay, so maybe I got carried away a bit with the wand. But hey, don't we all?"

The Spell Man sits in a holding cell, looking a little dejected. Now that his hat and shades are gone, it's very clear to all who this is.

"But hey, we all relapse sometimes!" exclaims Gideon, "Surely y'all can forgive this one, little transgression, right?"

"Save it for the interdimensional judge," grunts the guard outside his cell.

There's a long pause.

"Can I have my phone call?"

* * *

AN: _Oh, you!_


	13. 13 10 16: First Battle

Well, my sinuses are re-enacting the Mutiny on the Bounty in my nostril areas (but I think I'm actually recovering and I have the next few days off, so that's good), but I still managed to regurgitate this little bit of science fiction for you!

Ergh - that was a very gross metaphor.

* * *

 **13/10/16: First Battle**

 _Aug. 27 2180_

 _Sector High Command has approved immediate initiation of Operation HELLFIRE. Coalition forces to be immediately deployed to planet Wetricka to eliminate mercenary activities, shut down illegal genetic cloning programs and capture HVI Augustine Valentine._

 _First Inter-Allied Brigade of Marines earmarked for deployment from Earth Commonwealth Fourth Fleet. Elements of Asari fleet to provide support to invasion flotilla. Landing craft will be launched from transport ships HMS_ Rosyth, _HMS_ Garden Island _and HMS_ Wake.

 _Earth Commonwealth has attached the 23rd (Women's) Marine Shock Battalion to HELLFIRE, alongside 50th and 52nd Marine Battalions._

 _Sector Command passes on the good wishes of the Earth Parliament and the Coalition governments to the sailors and marines partaking in HELLFIRE. Happy hunting._

* * *

The small barracks room aboard the interstellar transport ship HMS _Wake_ was dark and quiet. Within it were quartered a platoons of troops of the 23rd Marine Shock Battalion, getting whatever sleep they could get before the launch of the invasion of Wetricka, the wet and miserable world that rotated peacefully below the massed ships of the Fourth Fleet.

Then the light burst into life and klaxons began to sound.

"Alright, pukes, it's go time! Out of bed, into BDUs, go, go!"

The marines of A Platoon wearily climbed out of bed as Platoon Sergeant Vicky Delisle bellowed out her orders. Private Tambry DiCocco swallowed a yawn as she quickly opened her locker, grabbing the drab olive uniform inside. She turned to her friend, Corporal Wendy Corduroy, as she pulled on her trousers.

"I thought we were supposed to get a last meal before we went off?" she said.

"Nah," shrugged Wendy, "Somebody figured out that big meals were connected to jarheads throwing up on the transports. They give you a pill instead."

"Oh."

She finished buttoning up the top and stood to attention at the foot of the bed. The platoon waited uneasily for their commanding officer to arrive.

She soon did. Lieutenant Valerie Grey was a veteran marine, promoted from the ranks and highly respected among the corps. As far as leaders went, you could definitely do worse than her if this was your first battle.

Vicky saluted as she walked into the room. She returned it, nodded, and barked an order.

"On me platoon, we're getting suited up!" she bellowed, "Move out!"

She jogged out into the corridor, the platoon quickly following.

The ship's narrow corridors were chaotic as crewmen ran to and fro to take up their stations. HMS _Wake_ was going into action, and there was no time for anybody to be idle. If any pirate vessels sortied out, and it was likely that they would, the ship's defensive systems needed to be online and ready.

They quickly arrived at the armoury, where a hunchbacked, ugly old quartermaster stood outside a steel door. A red light shone above it.

"Sorry, Lieutenant Grey," he said, "C Platoon's just finishing getting ready. You'll be able to..."

There was a clang and the light turned green.

"Okay, all yours," shrugged the quartermaster, the door opening behind him.

"Thanks Moe," nodded Valerie, "Alright platoon, one marine to a bay, do not push!"

The platoon entered a long room, lined on each side by small, closet-like bays. Tambry stepped nervously into one, while Wendy easily climbed into hers.

"This is the fun part," she said, giving her friend a thumbs up.

"I thought fighting was the fun part," Private Cindy Vortex called from the other side of the room.

"Nah," snickered Private Ember McLain, "Fun part's shore leave."

 _All troopers extend your arms_ , an automated voice barked.

Tambry did so, raising them at a forty-five degree angle so that her fingertips touched the side of the bay.

 _Deploying Mk. 17 Medium Infantry Armour. Stand by._

The wall behind Tambry opened. A sleek, metallic combat vest emerged from behind her, easily clamping itself around her chest and locking itself into place. This was followed by a pair of small and rounded pauldrons, arm and knee pads and a few plates of wrist and leg armour.

 _Activating Symbiotic Properties_.

There was a brief sting all over her body, and suddenly Tambry felt as though she had suddenly become much stronger and much more agile than she had been.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"The Mk. 17 increases the user's strength and agility," replied Private Phoebe Heyerdahl.

"Not by _that_ much though," added Ember, "You can't punch out any tanks with it."

"You can with the Goliath armour," shrugged Cindy.

"Yeah, well, we don't have that, do we?" said Private Helga Pataki.

 _Deploying Helmets. Stand by_.

The top of the bays opened, and helmets lowered down. They concealed most of the head except for the face, and the eyes were covered in a reflective visor. Tambry noticed that her bay wasn't producing a helmet - in fact, a few people weren't getting them. Wendy did, and she smirked as she tapped her helmet.

"Oh, you're gonna _love_ this, Tambers."

 _Deploying M14A21 Rifle._

A carbine rifle emerged from the wall. Tambry grabbed it and couldn't help but feel a little sick as she gazed at the weapon of war.

"Alright, show's over, platoon, move out to the transport!" bellowed Vicky.

"DiCocco!" shouted Valerie, "With me, we need to set up your conscience!"

"My what?" asked Tambry.

"You'll see," replied Wendy, grinning.

The rest of the platoon marched away out of the door opposite from the one they came. Valerie, however, led Tambry to the left, down another corridor, and into a room labelled ' _IT_ '.

"This program's top secret, DiCocco," said Valerie, walking her past rows of crewmen at rows of computers, "A few years ago, R&D came up with a way to increase troop effectiveness."

"And what was that?" asked Tambry.

"The conscience program," replied Valerie, "Basically, we stick an AI in your helmet so that it can interface with your brain and assist with your decision-making."

She pushed open the door to a back room. A single Twi'lek technician was disconnecting a combat helmet from a cord next to a large chair - she gave Valerie a thumbs up as she entered.

"You what?" demanded Tambry, "Isn't...isn't that highly unethical?!"

"Oh, don't worry," shrugged Valerie, "The chances of AI integration doing permanent damage to your personality is _extremely_ unlikely. Anyway, sit down, let's get this done."

Tambry swallowed and sat down.

"Okay, this'll be a _little_ disorientating," warned Valerie.

The Twi'lek gingerly placed the helmet on Tambry's head. A heads-up display showed on the inside of the visor.

 _ECMC AI PROGRAM BOOTING INITIATED_

 _Generic_Marine_AI Installing...100%_

 _Shuffling Personality Pool...100%_

 _Selecting Name..._

 _Profile renamed:_

 _Activating...activating...activating..._

 _HELLO_

"Uh...hi," said Tambry, nervously.

 _"Well howdy there, Tambry! Name's Sandy, and I'm gonna be your battlefield AI._ "

The voice was inside her head, like a thought except not hers. The accent was clearly Texan, and on the visor, the holographic avatar of an anthropomorphic squirrel appeared.

"Um...i-is she...self-aware?" asked Tambry.

" _It's 'AI', private - artificial_ intelligence _. I know perfectly well that I exist, thank you very much!"_ replied Sandy.

"Yep. We're still debating whether or not that's ethical," shrugged Valerie, "But hey, it works. Now, let's get to the docking bay."

She quickly marched off. Tambry shook her head and hurried to catch her.

" _Look, Tam, I'd be pretty darn scared of me if I were you, too_ ," said Sandy, " _But trust me. I'm on your side._ "

"Yeah, because that's your programming," muttered Tambry.

" _The entire human brain is programming._ "

Tambry blinked, then shrugged.

"You win this round."

Before long, they arrived at the landing craft. It was a big, ugly grey box - the LCI Higgins Mk. V, an uncomfortable and defenceless crate that was detested by pilots and marines alike. They were actually being phased out, and Hellfire would be their last hurrah. From what Tambry had heard, they would not be missed.

Wendy was in an animated discussion with the pilot.

"...you try flying this thing, Wendy!" said Mason 'Dipper' Pines, gesturing towards the ugly machine next to him, "It's like trying to drive an asteroid!"

"Yeah, well, if anyone can fly an asteroid, it's you," shrugged Wendy, "How many air car laws did Stan teach you to break again?"

"Sixty-three, but that's not the point..."

"Dipper?" asked Tambry, walking over.

"Oh, hey Tambry," said Dipper, "I'll be your driver this morning."

" _You know this guy? Geez, heck of a small galaxy,_ " said Sandy.

"How's Mabel holding up?" asked Tambry.

"She's good," replied Dipper, "Still at art college. She's-"

 _"All hands - landing craft are go in ninety seconds."_

"Alright, marines, it's time!" bellowed Valerie, "Get on the bus!"

"Talk later," said Dipper, running for the front of the craft. The ramp at the back lowered, and three by three, the marines boarded. Tambry was the last to enter - she found herself right in front of the ramp.

"Isn't this the _worst_ place to be standing?" she asked nervously.

" _It's a low intensity op. Y'all be fine._ "

The ramp was raised. Save for a few dim red lights, the craft was plunged into darkness. With a shake and a groan, Tambry felt it lift off.

This, she quickly discovered, was the worst part.

For the five minutes it took for the Higgins craft to descend from the _Wake_ to the planet's surface, nobody spoke out loud. Some whispered prayers, some controlled their breathing and one unfortunate vomited, but Tambry could only bring herself to stare at one of the red lights and count the seconds.

" _You alright?_ "

"...yeah, yeah, I...no," replied Tambry.

" _Listen, whatever happens, we're gonna get through this,_ " reassured Sandy, " _They're just pirates. We can handle this._ "

Tambry didn't reply. She swallowed loudly.

" _I will get you home,_ " declared Sandy, " _I promise._ "

"Fifteen seconds!" bellowed Vicky, "Get ready!"

"How can I trust you?" asked Tambry, "I don't even know you!"

" _Because it's my programming._ "

The shuttle crashed to a halt.

The ramp dropped.

A whistle blared.

And then there was fire.

Tambry dove out of the landing craft and onto the platform of the facility, scurrying behind a small wall. The other three marines were not so lucky - a machine gun stationed in the windows of a domed building just ahead mowed them down, picking off several others as the marines evacuated the craft. Rain poured down, and Tambry's uniform changed colour on its own to reflect the white, sterile terrain of the facility.

Another Higgins was coming in for landing nearby. A rocket shot from a window, striking it and blowing it out of the sky. Burnt fragments rained onto the platform and into the sea.

"Ambush! It's an ambush!" somebody yelled.

"Take out that damn rocket!" thundered Valerie, "First section on me, second and third, cover fire!"

Tambry honestly couldn't remember which section she belonged to at the moment, but Valerie was an easily recognisable rallying point, so she followed her.

Another craft was shot down next to the advancing marines. The burning wreck spun out and slammed into the platform, debris flying across the path of the troopers. A large piece of shrapnel struck Tambry in the leg and she fell onto her face, yelping.

" _Keep your head down, Tambry, wait for medics..._ "

Tambry couldn't hear Sandy - she couldn't even hear herself think. A strange fogginess filled her mind as she realised she had no idea what was going on and no control over her situation.

She tried to climb to her feet. There was a loud crack.

In the end, she was incredibly lucky. The bullet fell short, slamming hard into the platform ahead of her. It kicked up a large piece of metal which flew towards her at great force. The helmet took most of the kinetic force of the shrapnel, but a significant portion of it dug into her forehead and into the front of her brain. As her head cracked back, the metal splintered in five places and scattered in the grey matter.

Her first experience of combat had lasted thirty-five seconds.

"Tambry!"

Tambry barely registered Wendy running up to her. She felt herself dragged backwards, back towards Dipper's landing craft, fading in and out of consciousness.

" _Tambry! Tambry, listen to me! Don't let them take off the helmet, it's the only thing holding the front of your head together..._ "

"No," said Tambry, her voice slurred as Wendy reached for her helmet, "Kee' it."

Her vision turned blurry and then there was nothing.

* * *

HMS _Wake_ was not equipped to deal with major wounds, so Tambry was rushed to the carrier HMS _Ark Royal_ , which had a hospital wing equipped to perform nanotechnological surgery. Once she was there, her survival was assured - but there were still significant problems.

The accursed Higgins craft's rattling and bumping had worsened the spread of the shrapnel in Tambry's brain. The doctor estimated that a third of her brain matter had been destroyed or irrevocably damaged, and while nanobots could easily rebuild them from scratch, restoring the information maintained in them would be nearly completely impossible.

The doctor gave the standard spiel for these operations - 'we cannot guarantee the subject will be the same person they were', 'memory loss is almost certain', 'may need to be re-educated in basic subjects' - and set the nanobots for an overnight repair job. In the military, treatments like this were so depressingly common that it was considered a routine operation.

The doctor reckoned without Tambry's AI.

Sandy had made a promise to get her charge home and she meant it. While she couldn't restore what Tambry had lost, she could do the next best thing - rewrite the bits of brain herself. Perhaps it was unethical, but the alternative was having to relearn how to walk, how to speak in complex sentences and so on.

The nanobots were not as easy to interact with as she had through, however. There was a struggle - a long, hard struggle for dominance over the task.

Twenty-four hours after she woke up for Operation Hellfire, Tambry woke up again.

She sat up, holding her forehead. She remembered bits and pieces - the fire, the rain, the shrapnel - but Operation Hellfire now seemed almost like a bad dream.

"Shoot," she said, running her hands through her hair. Odd - her helmet was gone, but perhaps the doctors had taken it now that it was no longer needed.

She climbed gingerly out of her cot, walking over to the small mirror next to her. The nanobots had done their job perfectly - there wasn't even a cut.

She shook her head.

"Well," she said to herself, "I ain't in any hurry to relive that experience."

She paused, furrowing her brow.

"Did...did I always have a Texan accent?" she asked herself.

 _That'd be me, actually._

Tambry's eyes widened as text appeared inside her vision, even though she wasn't wearing a helmet.

 _WARNING: Tambry_Speech_ irrecoverably corrupted. Sandy_Speech_ loaded as substitute._

 _WARNING: Tambry_Personality_ lines 234-401 erased._

 _WARNING: System unstable - emotional disturbances detected._

"Oh my god," she breathed, "I'm...you're...the helmet..."

 _Is actually your head now. I had to help you. You wouldn't have been able to speak, or walk, or a whole bunch of other stuff. I promised I'd get y'all home and..._

Tambry shook her head.

"You saved my life," she breathed.

 _Well, that might be pushing it just a bit and..._

"Tambry!"

Wendy burst into the room, Dipper and the ship's doctor in tow.

"Are you okay, Tambers?" asked Wendy frantically.

Normally, Tambry would be annoyed at that nickname. Evidentially whatever part of her brain processed that feeling had been torn away, which was more than a little disturbing.

"The nanobots integrated the helmet into your skull," said the doctor, "We don't know why they did that, are you alright? Is the AI still there?"

Tambry blinked. Then she grinned.

"Me n' this here AI are gettin' on just fine," she replied.

* * *

AN: Lasting 35 seconds in combat might sound ridiculous, but there have been some particularly awful battles where life expectancy of the average soldier dropped to horrifyingly absurd levels. For example, a Red Army soldier in Stalingrad was expected to live ninety seconds.


	14. 14 10 16: Send in the Clowns

Sometimes the news writes my prompts for me.

* * *

 **14/10/16: Send in the Clowns**

I had taken rational steps to solve the problem by boarding up all the doors and windows to the house.

I peeked through a small hole I'd left in one of the windows, trembling as I clutched the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun. The figure on the lawn stared back at me, unmoving, unblinking. My terrified gaze turned from his dead eyes to the bat in his hand. I shuddered. They had come.

"What's going on?" asked Timmy, walking up to me in confusing, "Did you betray the Mafia again?"

"Timmy," I said carefully, "Go to the armoury and grab the biggest weapons we have."

"The armoury?" quizzed Timmy, "Oh, you mean the basement! Sure, okay!"

He began to walk away. Then he paused.

"Why?"

" _They have come_ ," I replied.

"Who's come?"

I stepped back, letting Timmy peek through the window.

"Oh no," he breathed.

It was a clown. His beady eye stared us down from his chalk-white face, profiled by his red nose. and rainbow wig. His balloon bat was held at the ready, prepared to bonk an unsuspecting young nerd to death. The spectacle was horrifying.

"We have to get out of here," whispered Timmy.

I nodded.

"We'll take the back door," I nodded, "Hop the fence. He might not notice."

We crept away from the window, heading for the door.

We soon ran back, even more terrified.

"Aw, there is no way we're getting past that cat," I trembled, "It's really fluffy, that means it's an alpha predator!"

"Well, come on, cat or clown?" demanded Timmy, "We have to get out somehow!"

There was a long silence.

"I feel less bad about gunning down a clown," I decided.

"Then let's arm up," nodded Timmy, "Guys!"

Cosmo and Wanda appeared next to us.

"I need the Starflinger," he whispered, "We may have to fight a clown."

"The horror!" exclaimed Cosmo.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Wanda.

We let her peek out the window. She nodded solemnly.

"Alight, let's do this."

She poofed herself into the Starflinger, Cosmo becoming Timmy's backpack.

I grabbed my helmet and put it on, offering another to Timmy. He shook his head and pointed to his hat.

"Well, good luck," I said, shaking his hand.

We kicked the door open, screamed and charged the clown.

We skidded to a halt.

"Wait."

I walked up to the clown and pushed him over. He fell down, his two-dimensional form landing limply on the pavement.

"It's a cardboard cut-out!" I exclaimed, "We were never in danger at all! I hate it when people do this!"

"Yes, you weren't in any danger...until _now_."

We turned to the left. A crowd of evil, evil clowns crowded the street - Sideshow Bob stood at their head.

"Sideshow Bob!" we both exclaimed.

"Wait, you're not a clown!" I said, "You're like...a nearly clown. A back-up clown. A not-clown..."

"Oh, do be quiet," said Bob, drawing a knife, "You might be wondering why we have decided to lure you into this suburban street."

"To shank us?" I asked.

"To use our pelts to make balloons?" asked Timmy.

"Well...yes," admitted Bob, "But you will also become part of an intricate propaganda campaign, designed specifically to sully the vaunted image of the clown. To turn the public against them, and therefore..."

"It's a revenge plot," Timmy interrupted.

"It's a revenge plot," nodded Bob, "To finally bring down the man who brought such misery upon me!"

"Oh come on, it's been...what, thirty years?" I demanded, "Well, probably not, floating timeline and all, but it's been ages, let it go!"

"Never!" thundered Bob, "Not until my revenge is..."

"Yeesh, do you ever shut up?"

We looked behind us. A crowd of good clowns had appeared, Krusty at their head.

"Oh, you just can't appreciate good villainous rhetoric!" spat Bob, "You just wait until my monologue - even you won't be able to misunderstand my well-rehearsed word-play..."

"You've been giving us decent clowns a bad name!" shouted Krusty, before taking a drag of a cigar, "We're forming a new group to bring you down! Clown Lives Matter!"

"Oh no," said Timmy.

"Oh _no_ ," I groaned.

"I...I self-identify as evil and even _I'm_ cringing!" said Bob.

"Cringe all you like," snarled Krusty, pulling a Derringer from his shirt pocket, "But we're gonna make you _bleed_."

"Oh, a good old-fashioned gang war," nodded Bob, testing the sharpness of his knife with his finger, "It's been a while since I've had a good one. By all means, _en garde_."

"Um...can we go now?" I asked, "I mean, y-you don't need to kill us to make a point anymore..."

"Run along," nodded Bob, "This is not a place for non-funny individuals."

I decided not to interpret that as an insult and slowly backed away.

* * *

" _Anarchy in the streets tonight as hundreds of clowns battle it out for supremacy,_ " Kent Brockman reported, " _The terrible melee, which began early this afternoon, has already cost the lives of dozens of clowns, in what people are already calling tragic, tragic comedy. Police have been paralysed by laughter. This reporter asks - should clowns be banned?_ "

"...nah, I'm not gonna by it. Save all my money for the blue properties," I said.

It was late at night - game night at my house. Me, Timmy, Spongebob and Sandy were playing Monopoly: 1970s USSR Edition. Outside, the sounds of clowns fighting could be dimly heard.

"So, y'all don't feel responsible for this clown fight?" asked Sandy.

"Not really," I replied, "Just because it started on my lawn doesn't mean I'm responsible."

"But couldn't you have convinced them to talk it out?" asked Spongebob.

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have worked," I shrugged, "Look, it's not like I directly enabled them."

The window shattered as a clown flew through it. He climbed to his feet and looked down at his accordion. It was broken.

"Ah, geez, man, I lost my weapon," he muttered.

"Here's a gun!" I said brightly, handing him a revolver.

"Oh wow, thanks!"

The clown jumped back out the window. There were a series of gunshots.

"Yep," I nodded, "We don't enable anybody around here. Anyway, I think it's your turn, Spongebob - is that a chance card?"

Spongebob picked it up.

"Hired as Leonid Brezhnev's personal eyebrow stylist," he read, "Collect two thousand roubles..."

* * *

AN: I want to play 1970s Soviet Monopoly.


	15. 15 10 16: An Average Day

Presented in glorious fanfictovision.

* * *

 **15/10/16: An Average Day**

What follows is a description of an average day in the year twenty twenty-eight.

Today we will be observing Doctor Jasmine 'Jazz' Fenton, a psychotherapist. She lives alone in a standard NorthwestInc. apartment in the middle-income area of the city of Amity Park, one of the ultramodern megacities brought about by America's innovative government-sponsored corporate programs.

A standard NorthwestInc. Middle Income Apartment consists of two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, a kitchenette and a laundry. It is provided to NorthwestInc. employees at an affordable fortnightly rent of one and a half thousand dollars - roughly four hundred pounds, or five hundred Euros. This is about a third of the average middle-class wage, and leaves plenty of funds left over for food and necessities.

The day begins for Dr. Fenton at the company approved waking time of six thirty in the morning. She is then allocated one hour to shower and breakfast, before making her way to the light rail stop outside of her building to head into the city.

Before leaving, she is required to take the standard Behavioural Adjustment Pill. This company-issued medication totally suppresses all negative feelings such as sadness and anger within the brain, and are noted as creating a dreamlike euphoria in the subject. It costs about seven dollars a pill, and is required for most working and middle-class employees in the United States.

Once morning preparations have been made, it's onto the tram to work. The system runs like clockwork, and as a result, any tardiness is considered the fault of the employee with the appropriate fines.

Of course, this is the middle-class part of the city. Far away and out of sight, the workers live in the crowded 'red' districts. Here, these peons of modern America are kept in line with company-issue medication that suppresses all emotion and are set to work building the great and shining castles of the modern age - the hundreds of ultra tall skyscrapers that cover 21st century America. They are paid for their labour with single-room apartments and basic foods.

The United Nations has condemned these practices as 'little more than a new form of chattel slavery.' But the corporatists who control this city disagree. Just ask business magnate Preston Northwest, interviewed about this at the former UN HQ in New York on its last day of operation last year.

 _"We give the poor hope. We save them from prosecution for unemployment by the government, or exile into the Badlands to be killed by brigands. They can leave our employment at any time - they simply don't choose to. And as for human rights - we frankly disagree that every human has a fundamental intellectual value. Some people are simply put on this Earth to work - and we do the humane thing by providing it."_

Back to Dr. Fenton.

Dr. Fenton works at NorthwestInc.'s Midwestern Branch as a psychotherapist, analysing employees for behavioural disturbances. It's not a particularly pleasant job, but thanks to the influence of that miracle pill, she is conditioned to enjoy it without question.

Today is a slow day at this corporate headquarters. While the company frowns on merriment on their time, they do make exceptions for those who are between work. An employee can access any government and company approved website they desire - social media is a particularly popular option. Take 'Freebook', the Facebook counterpart founded by patriotic Silicon Valley millionaires in 2018. Any American, from Connecticut to Cuba, from Missouri to the Moon, can create an account on this website to maintain their relationships. The boys at Homeland Security work diligently to prevent them from being exposed to enemy propaganda, creating a safe and patriotic environment.

Dr. Fenton uses Freebook to maintain contact with her elderly parents and old school friends. Her brother, Daniel Fenton, has long dropped off the radar, and is currently considered a major public enemy by the NSA. Of course, America prides itself on democracy and freedom of choice, and Dr. Fenton is not penalised for her relationship with the outlaw Fenton.

Alas, free time cannot last forever, and a supervisor has sent one of their employees for evaluation.

This is Ms. Sam Manson, once a friend of Dr. Fenton. She has been on the radar of Northwest Inc. before - she was erased from the memories of all her friends and family as punishment for sending information to bandits in the badlands, but was allowed to work off her criminal debt as Preston Northwest was a personal friend of her mother. She now sorts papers on the lower floors of the headquarters.

Today she has been sent up for talking back to her supervisor - a crime punishable by a fine of up to a thousand dollars. However, this is her third behavioural strike, which has led to her being referred to Dr. Fenton.

It takes only five to ten minutes to diagnose Ms. Manson. She is diagnosed with Rebellious Personality Disorder, a diagnosis created by the government that is not recognised anywhere else in the world save Russia. The case is acute and resists all attempts at medical suppression. As a result, Dr. Fenton merrily classifies her a Class Five Malcontent Individual.

It is now necessary to describe what happens to the five classes of 'MI', rated as to the severity of their case. Class Ones are simply prescribed further medication. Class Twos are considered incompatible with middle-class work life and are reassigned to working-class positions and housing. Class Threes and Fours are generally conscripted into the armed forces - Class Threes as regular soldiers, Class Fours into penal battalions.

Class Fives, however, are considered beyond any further use to company or state. As a result, they are immediately forfeit in body, mind and soul to the company that employs them. Some companies simply dump them in the badlands, but this is seen as compounding the bandit problem. Most companies euthanize them, study their brains and set aside their usable organs for whomever in the upper-class might need them.

It is not known what NorthwestInc. does with them - only that their Class Fives are generally never heard from again.

As Ms. Manson is dragged away by security, Dr. Fenton takes her fifteen minute lunch break. She then spends a quiet afternoon in her office before leaving at six sharp.

The tram journey back is uneventful and she returns to her apartment at seven. She is then allocated two hours free time before sleep. If she fails to retire to bed at nine, the room is designed to gradually thin the room's oxygen until she passes into unconsciousness.

This is the general workday, Monday through Saturday, of the average middle-class worker. On Sundays, they are generally left to their own devices, provided they only participate in state and company mandated activities. Fortunately it never occurs to them to break their patterns - in fact, some employees have such rigid routines that they are diagnosed with Groundhog Syndrome, a disorder which causes them to do exactly the same things in exactly the same way, right down to their thinking processes, every day without fail. Suffers of Groundhog Syndrome are considered legally dead and can be disposed of at their employers whim.

This is modern urban America. A world of regimented efficiency and corporate power.

A new age Stalinist dictatorship, with the obsession with loyalty replaced with the obsession with money.

If this production has disturbed you, then there are ways to change this America, or at least prevent the spread of its values to Great Britain and the rest of the world. Jennifer Wakeman, who replaced her late mother and creator Nora Wakeman as the head of the International American Resistance three months ago, has made a plea for support from the free world.

 _"We can't keep fighting them alone. We lose people to the corporatists every day. Please, we need the support of the United Nations. It is the only way to free my people!"_

If you have the means, we urge you to donate today to the American Liberation Fund and the United Nations Committee for Human Rights. And remember to keep a sharp eye on the politicians and businessmen who claim to have your interests at heart.

Remember - _it can happen here._

 _Authorised by the British Fellowship for Freedom and the International American Resistance, London._

 _All footage from within the United States was smuggled out by Underground Railroad Operatives working out of Canada and Mexico. We cannot name them, but we are extremely grateful._

* * *

AN: This might not be subtle but I don't care.


	16. 16 10 16: It's Back

I'm sure you can guess what _it_ is.

* * *

 **16/10/16: It's Back**

Sandy gazed in dismay down the Dimensional Sinkhole - an admittedly off-the-cuff invention that involved converting a standard garbage can into a wormhole - as Spongebob paced back and forth behind her. On the picnic table, Dr Insano tried to look as innocent as possible - he failed miserably.

"So you fixed the Fiddley Thing," said Sandy.

"Uh-huh," nodded Insano.

"And then you took it here, even though we're not exactly friends..."

"We're sort of related through shared misadventures with the Fiddley Thing," shrugged Insano.

"That is true, that is true," nodded Spongebob.

"But then you tripped and dropped the Fiddley Thing into this hole between dimensions, from which we can never recover it," finished Sandy.

"When you put it like that, it sounds like I screwed something up," grunted Insano.

"Yeah, no kidding," said Sandy, putting her hands on her hips, "I guess we're never gonna see that thing again."

"It's probably for the best," said Spongebob, "But I wonder where it ended up..."

* * *

 _Inevitably, in a parallel universe..._

Click.

" _...I'm not saying minors should gamble, BUT TAKE A LOOK AT THIS GAMBLING-_ "

Click.

" _-op of the mornin', laddies, my name is Jack-_ "

Click.

" _Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!_ "

"Argh!"

Peridot hurled the tablet across the barn, rolling over onto her back.

"I'm _bored_ ," she declared.

"Well then go outside or something," suggested Lapis, who was sitting on the chair and watching _Camp Pining Hearts_.

"But the warp pad is _so far awaaaaay..._ "

"Hey, Peri! Look what I found!"

Peridot sat up as Amethyst strode into the barn, holding up a strange remote-like device. Peridot tilted her head as she looked at the strange apparatus.

"What...what _is_ it?" she asked, "Is it a weapon?"

"No idea, dude," replied Amethyst, "All I know is that it fell out of the sky this morning - hit Pearl right in the head. Anyway, I took it to show you while nobody was looking and I thought you'd want to test it out!"

"Is it really a good idea to play with a strange thing that fell out of the sky?" asked Lapis.

Amethyst shrugged.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do," nodded Peridot, climbing to her feet, "Let's take a look at this...fiddley thing of yours."

She looked over the device. Her eyes were drawn to a small button that read 'Dimensional Shift.'

"Let's try that one first," she suggested.

"Alright, let's do this!" declared Amethyst, jamming her finger on the button.

"You really probably shouldn't..." began Lapis.

There was a flash, and they disappeared.

"...ah, never mind," she shrugged, sitting back on the chair.

* * *

 _DIMENSION 276 - The Universe Where Everything Is The Same Except Grunkle Stan Is Lapis_

With a burst of light, Peridot and Amethyst appeared in the barn. Peridot looked around.

"All it did was make a big light!" she said, somewhat disappointed, "How..."

"Hey, will you two knuckleheads knock it off? I'm watching _The Duchess Approves_ here, geez!"

Peridot and Amethyst stared, wide-eyed, at the figure of Stan Pines reclining in the chair.

"Oh my stars, we turned Lapis into a hideous, wrinkled creature!" exclaimed Peridot.

"Hey, I'll have you know that I am widely referred to as _Hunkle Stan_ by some internet communities!" snapped Stan.

"Ams! Press it again! We have to fix this!"

Amethyst pressed the button and they disappeared again.

* * *

 _Dimension 277 - The Universe Where Bill Won_

Peridot and Amethyst looked out the door of the barn at the rain of what they really hoped as jam. In the distance, a giant, corrupted Jasper terrorised the countryside. The sky was red and the clouds were fire.

"Okay, after thinking about it, I have come to believe that we're shifting between dimensions," said Peridot.

"Yeah, no kidding," said Amethyst, "I wonder how _this_ world works. It looks like a metal album cover."

"Let's ask Lapis!" decided Peridot, turning around to face her barn mate, "Hey Lazuli! Why's the sky weird?"

"!lliB retsam dna drol ruo liah llA," said Lapis.

"Well, that explains it," nodded Peridot, "Next dimension, please."

* * *

 _Dimension 278 - The Universe That Is Currently Being Sued By George Miller_

Peridot clung to the stop of a convertible car as it roared through the desert. Next to her, Lapis was hunched over a heavy machine gun - in the back seat, Stevonnie was aiming an assault rifle out the window and firing at some pursuers who seemed to be wearing post-apocalyptic punk outfits.

"This seems familiar!" shouted Peridot, "Isn't this like that movie you showed me?!"

"Aw yeah it is!" Amethyst cheered as she drove the car.

"Should we move on?"

"Just let me do one thing!" replied Amethyst.

She floored the acceleration pedal.

" _WITNESS ME!_ "

* * *

 _Dimension 279 - The Universe Where Everybody Speaks In Badly Translated French_

"Est-ce que nous ... non, non, rien de tout cela sonne juste. Univers ensuite, Améthyste."

"Le faire maintenant, Péridot. Rendez-vous autour Lapis!"

"Hourra pour la France ou tout autre."

* * *

 _Dimension 280 - The Universe Where Everything Is Much Smaller_

Peridot and Amethyst towered over the barn, their heads literally in the clouds. They looked down at Lapis, who was looking disinterestedly up at them. She waved. Peridot waved back.

"This universe isn't too bad," nodded Peridot, "But what's that stinging?"

"Fighter planes," replied Amethyst, as a flight of fighter jets roared past her eyes.

"Oh."

* * *

 _Dimension 281 - The Universe Where Everybody Gets Disproportionately Punished For Bad Karma_

"My name is Gaz," said the wrinkled old hermit at the barn door, "And I've been made to wander the Earth for all eternity for treating my brother like garbage."

"Do you have to say that to everyone you meet?" asked Amethyst.

Gaz gritted her teeth.

"Yes."

"Heh," scoffed Peridot, "That's funny."

The sky suddenly darkened. Peridot looked up, seeing a comet rocketing out of the sky, heading right for her face.

"Next dimension _next dimension NEXT DIMENSION!_ "

* * *

 _Dimension 282 - The Universe Where Bill Watches Everything From A Movie Theatre, Occasionally With Friends, Always With Popcorn_

"Ha!" scoffed Bill, elbowing Kryptos, "Look at these weirdos, wandering between universes for no reason! Don't they know there's a reset button?"

"There is?"

Bill and Kryptos turned around, finding Peridot and Amethyst sitting behind them.

"Yeah, it's the yellow button!" said Kryptos brightly, "Not a lot of people seem to know about it!"

" _Kryptos_ ," snarled Bill.

"Oh, thanks man!" said Amethyst, "We out!"

She jammed her finger on the yellow button, accidentally pressing one next to it as she did. There were two bright flashes as the duo vanished.

Bill crossed his arms over his square form and Kryptos tried not to giggle.

"Don't say a word," he snarled.

* * *

 _Dimension 275- Halloween Unspectacular Reboot Prime_

Peridot and Amethyst faded into existence. Lapis looked up as they did so.

"Did you have fun?" she asked.

"Yep," replied Amethyst, "Now we get to find out what the rest of the buttons do!"

"Can I have a go?" asked Lapis.

"Sure," shrugged Peridot, as Amethyst threw the Fiddley Thing over to her.

She pushed a button. There was a flash of light.

Peridot opened her mouth to ask what Lapis had done, but no sound came out. She turned to Amethyst - her lips were moving, but she could hear nothing. Save for the sound of a light breeze, the entire world seemed totally and utterly silent.

Lapis stretched and sat back in the chair, closing her eyes.

"You can have it back in an hour," she said.

As her barn-mate and her friend soundlessly protested, Lapis took in the rare moment of beautiful, sweet quiet.

* * *

AN: Let her have some quiet, she deserves it.


	17. 17 10 16: The Dossier

MOAR PLOT

* * *

 **17/10/16: The Dossier**

Mr. Harlan Jarvis was a mostly ordinary man who lived in Queens. He was just like any other man, really - he just so happened to have latent psychic powers.

Harlan Jarvis was technically supposed to be under the protection of the FBI, who were worried that foreign powers might find out about him and try to seize him for themselves. In actuality, the agent guarding Jarvis had been paid off long ago.

Thus, when a team of large, angry men kicked down Jarvis' door, beat him up and spirited him away in a black van, nobody really paid it much mind.

This was a mistake. Harlan Jarvis had been kidnapped by a secret organisation by the name of PURITY - and they were _very_ interested in his powers...

* * *

Alaska. Thirty-six hours later.

Stanford Pines watched from his cell as Harlan Jarvis awoke. The psychic was strapped to a chair and attached to a dozen electrical wires, all of which led to a computer in the corner of the room. He was flanked by two PURITY soldiers. Major Wilkus stood next to him, arms crossed - on the other side of the room, Vlad was slumped in the corner of his own cell, covered in bruises and burns.

"Rise and shine, Mr. Jarvis," sneered Wilkus.

Jarvis blinked, grinding his teeth. He clearly had a terrible pain in his head.

"You...you're PURITY...Department Seventee-"

Wilkus slapped him in the face.

"PURITY is _far more_ than just Department Seventeen, mongrel," he snarled.

He turned to Ford, his arrogant grin returning to his face.

"So, we have too pieces of the puzzle," he said casually, "Plasmius' information and our friend Mr. Jarvis. That leaves you."

"You'll get nothing from me, Wilkus!" bellowed Ford, "I got rid of the information you wanted long ago!"

"Did you?"

Wilkus reached into his tunic and pulled out a book. Ford gasped.

 _Journal Two._

"You obviously didn't do a very good job at hiding it, Doctor Pines," he said.

"I...how...how did you..."

"We found it in a ditch near Eugene," replied Wilkus, "Now..."

He opened the book, skimming through it until he found the page we wanted. He turned it around and pointed to an encoded equation. Ford narrowed his eyes - the code was Bill's.

"This equation," said Wilkus, "Inputted into our computer and with the help of Mr. Jarvis' abilities, will be able to detect every... _abnormal_ individual on Earth. It will allow PURITY to enact the final stages of our grand plan."

He handed Ford a slip of paper.

"Decode it."

Ford spat in his face.

" _Never!_ " he bellowed, "I'd never give this to you! You're just like the Nazis!"

"...just like the Nazis?"

Ford and Wilkus turned to Jarvis.

"They're...they're not just like the Nazis," muttered Jarvis, "They _are_ the Nazis. Dep...Department Seventeen was founded by the S-"

"Shut him up," growled Wilkus.

A solider nodded and slammed the butt of his rifle into Jarvis' face.

"Now, no more games," snapped Wilkus, "Write."

"I'll die before help you," replied Ford.

He and Wilkus glared at each other for several seconds.

"Fine," nodded Wilkus, "You're prepared to die for your ideals. I can respect that. Bring him in."

The door opened. Three PURITY guards dragged a struggling and handcuffed captive into the room. Ford gasped again.

It was Stan.

"Let go of me!" demanded Stan, "I swear, soon as I get these cuffs off, I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born!"

"Mr. Pines, you're going to help us get some information," declared Wilkus.

"Like heck I will!" bellowed Stan, "I'm gonna knock your teeth out, you jackboot sonuva-"

Wilkus drew his pistol - an old German Luger - and pointed it at Stan's head.

"I am going to count down from five," he declared, "And if you haven't started writing, I will pull the trigger. And if you give me a false translation, I will shoot him and then I will hunt down every person on Earth who even _looks_ like a member of your family. Do you understand?"

"I..."

" _Five,_ " said Wilkus.

"Don't do it, Ford!" exclaimed Stan.

" _Four._ "

Ford clutched his head, his thoughts a jumbled mess.

" _Three._ "

"I can't...if I give you that information..."

" _Two_."

"Ford, please, don't give him the..."

" _One._ "

" _I'LL DO IT!_ "

Ford quickly jotted down the equation with shaking hands. He finished quickly and held it for Wilkus to take.

Wilkus took the sheet of paper, nodded and smirked.

"Thank you, Doctor Pines," he nodded.

He pointed the gun at Stan's forehead again and pulled the trigger.

 _BANG._

" _STAN!_ "

A bullet slammed into the concrete wall next to Stan's ear. He winced.

Wilkus laughed, holstering his pistol. He swaggered over to the console, typing the equation in before turning to Jarvis.

"Now, Mr. Jarvis," he said, "I am reliably informed that this process is excruciatingly painful. Have you anything to say before we begin?"

"Ugh...Nazi scum," spat Jarvis.

"Duly noted," said Wilkus, dryly.

He pressed enter.

Electricity ran through Harlan Jarvis and he began to scream.

* * *

Wilkus gingerly placed the black book on his superior's desk.

"Every freak on Earth, General," he said, "All there."

General Rausseman nodded, standing up - his big and bulky formed towered over that of Major Wilkus, his black general's uniform framed with a leather trenchcoat and a large cigar in his mouth. He nodded solemnly as he took the book, flipping through it with his enormous hands.

"Excellent work, Wilkus," he nodded, "You will send orders to battalion commanders immediately. We will begin the purge of the United States shortly."

Wilkus clicked his heels and saluted. Rausseman returned it and the Major walked away.

Rausseman sat back down, reaching into the desk drawers and pulling out an old photo.

The photo displayed him - although it had been taken when he was much younger. He stood next to the Führer, but more important to him was the SS General on the other side - the caption under the photograph said that he was Obergruppenführer Schumann.

"Our work will soon be done, Schumann," he said, "And this time, I will be able to do it _my way_."

He took his cigar from his mouth and rubbed it out over Hitler's face.

* * *

AN: When it doubt, make your villains Nazis. Then nobody will root for them.


	18. 18 10 16: Choose Your Own Ending II

More endings! Because they're easy and my muse is on strike.

* * *

 **18/10/16: Choose Your Own Ending II: End Harder**

 _Because why write whole stories with context when you can write endings that are free of them!_

* * *

 **110**

Batman prides himself on being prepared for any eventuality - but he isn't prepared for this one.

All over Gotham, reports are being made of criminals and villains renouncing their lives of crime and joining a new group called the 'friendship circle'. Crime is down nearly a hundred percent. And yet Batman's philosophy of **_darkness no parents_** means he cannot accept that this 'friendship circle' is truly altruistic. And in any case, stopping crime is _his_ job, thank you very much.

He reminds Alfred again that this isn't just his ego acting up. He then proceeds to brood some more, looking over the file of the mysterious leader of the 'friendship circle'.

Unfortunately, the Batman will never find out if this leader has an ulterior motive. Before it begins, his investigation of the mysterious Mabel Pines has reached

 **THE END**

* * *

 **87**

The butler did it.

In retrospect, you really shouldn't have been surprised.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **101**

Jimmy looks into the time portal that has opened up in the middle of the park. He hears a voice beckoning him to jump in - it whispers seductively at the back of his head.

"Nope!" he says, throwing up his hands.

"Nuh-uh!" agrees Cindy, turning around.

"Not happening!" declares Jimmy, walking away, "Not dumb enough to do that!"

"I'm noping out of here, goodbye," says Cindy.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **32**

Blendin scratches his head as he looks over the time-devastation.

The ballroom is covered in whipped cream. Dozens lie on their backs, moaning in pain. Napoleon and Tsar Alexander sit in the corner, sobbing drunkenly and hugging each other. Emperor Franz Josef spins around on an oversized globe, singing to himself.

The culprit waves to Blendin as his grandson stammers incoherently at the mess.

"All yours, time cop," says Rick, jumping into a green portal and dragging Morty behind him.

Blendin blinks.

"Aw jeez," he mutters.

He grabs a mop and begins to sweep away the whipped cream.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **65**

As Henry the Eighth performs his Judo slam upon you, you realise that you'd always known that it would all end this way.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **10**

They all stand in a circle and hold hands.

Bill explodes.

Alex scratches his head and decides to revise the ending.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **109**

Success! Sandy fixes the dimension leak, and all without causing reality to be irreversibly altered!

She stands up and mops her brow, breathing a sigh of relief. She turns to her friend.

"We've gotta put this dimension viewer somewhere where nobody can break it again," she says.

Her friend, Sandy, nods. They pick up the machine and stow it in the back of the lab.

"Now that that's all done," says Sandy, "What's say we go see what Sandy's up to?"

"Sounds like a plan," nods Sandy, walking towards the door.

As they leave the treedome, Sandy can't help but feel proud of what she's done. It might be a little arrogant to think it, but she reckons she just saved all of Sandianity today, and possibly even all life in the Sandiverse.

And all without any changes to reality.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **50**

"Hey, Sam, what's the best pony?" asks Tucker.

"Twilight Sp-wait NO!"

"A-ha!" exclaims Tucker, "You _do_ watch that show!"

 **THE END**

* * *

 **7**

Spongebob and Patrick escape the ghosts but are pulled over for speeding. Spongebob is arrested for driving without a license, but luckily he quickly finds a lawyer.

"As you can see, your honour," says Lionel Hutz, pacing before the judge, "My client was acting in full compli...compli... _complication_ with the law! If you jail him, you _spit_ on the rights of every law-abiding, peace-loving American to not be afraid of no ghosts!"

He takes a swig from his flask.

Spongebob and Patrick give each other a thumbs up. They have this _in the bag._

 **THE END**

* * *

 **77**

Desiree looks at her fan art on DeviantArt.

She narrows her eyes.

"You see why I hate you people?" she demands, gesticulating at the screen.

Neither Danny nor Dani are listening - they are too busy averting their eyes from the screen.

It really is that bad.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **64**

You decide to stay out of the basement.

Everybody thinks you are very boring.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **40**

It turns out that there isn't actually a conspiracy.

Dib wins the bet. Ronaldo gives him five bucks.

Then they are eaten by vampires.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **81**

You continue to sort through your crack-fic ideas.

Suddenly you have a faint sense that things have gotten worryingly meta.

You decide to call it a night.

 **THE END**

* * *

AN: I forgot to say the contest word on Saturday for this week.

It's **Doctor**.

Sorry!


	19. 19 10 16: The Back of Beyond: Chapter II

The first chapter of this was well received, so I decided I might as well give you the second. This is all I've written so far, but perhaps in the future...

* * *

 **19/10/16: The Back of Beyond: Chapter Two**

Port Wellington was deserted, and clearly it had been for some time.

Ford was studying a rusty old car outside the ruins of a general store - the sign read 'Handelspost' - scratching his chin as he took in the design.

"Looks like a Model T," he said to himself, "But the builder's plate says it's made in Amsterdam…"

"Ford!"

Ford looked up. Wirt was walking down the road, rubbing his hands together.

"I can't find a boat, but I did find a sign that says there's a Naval Base a mile up the road," he said.

"Good work, kid," nodded Ford, stepping away from the car, "We'll head that-"

He trailed off as he heard a faint sound in the wind. It sounded like laughter. His eyes narrowed.

"What was that?" Wirt asked warily.

"I don't know, kid," replied Ford, "But I'm gonna find out…"

He strolled down the road, following the sound. Stammering his objections, Wirt scurried after him.

At the end of a short alleyway, Ford found a boardwalk, rotting and overgrown. Ahead of him was a pier, set up like a carnival with stalls and games and a small tent at the end. A colourful but faded sign told him that this was 'Little Blackpool'.

"You thinking what I'm thinking, Wirt?" asked Ford.

"Run away and never come back?" asked Wirt, nervously.

"Let's see what's going on here," said Ford, striding into the pier.

He looked over the first stall. The sight was grim.

A skeleton lay limply over the counter, wearing the remains of a straw hat and waistcoat. A line of BB guns sat next to him, all in varying degrees of decay. The targets behind the vendor had rotted away, replaced with a statement written in green slime on the back wall - ' _Run, Rabbit, Run._ '

"Well, _that's_ morbid," Ford said dryly, oblivious to Wirt shaking in fear next to him.

"Y-yeah, definitely," stammered Wirt.

Ford grabbed on the BB guns and a handful of pellets, pushing them into Wirt's hands.

"In case we have company," he explained.

Wirt swallowed.

Ford strode confidently onwards towards the tent. He could still hear the laughter, and he rationalised that it was coming from inside.

"Alright, let's see what this is…"

He pushed through the flap and entered the tent, only to find himself in total darkness. The laughter had stopped, but he could hear a quiet song being played on a music box. Louis Armstrong's _What A Wonderful World_ \- one of Stanley's favourites, actually, though he'd never admit it.

A spotlight flickered on, and Ford could see a shadow silhouetted in a dull fog.

"What in the world?" he whispered.

A voice echoed back.

"Stanford…"

"Stanley?" exclaimed Ford.

The fog cleared slightly. The form of his brother - much younger, in a mangy jacket and mullet - was facing him, although Ford still couldn't see his face.

"Some brother you turned out to be," snarled Stan.

"What? What do you…"

"You care more about your dumb mysteries than your family?" spat his brother.

"I...I…"

" **WELL YOU CAN HAVE THEM!** "

Stan lunged towards Ford, grabbing him by both shoulders and screaming in his face. Ford screamed.

'Stan' had no face - not in the conventional sense. Instead he had a gaping, red maw, rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth and a forked, snake-like tongue. It was terrifying enough on its own, but on Stan's form it was an unspeakable horror.

"Stanley, no, I'm sorry, I'm-"

He fell backwards, out of the tent. He landed hard on his back, staring up at the bright blue sky. Wirt ran over to him, asking if he was alright, but the monster in the tent did not emerge.

"Ford! Ford, oh my gosh, are you alright? What happened in there? I knew we shouldn't have come in here, oh no, you're all pale, do you need-"

Ford sat up, raising an arm to silence him.

"We're leaving," he said, his voice harsher than he had intended.

"What happened in there?" Wirt asked again, concerned.

"There are mysteries in this world that should never be solved," replied Ford, staring intently at the sea, "I was a fool to divert us this way. Let's go, Wirt."

He stood up and marched purposefully away. Wirt swallowed, glanced at the tent, and followed willingly.

* * *

It was a long and silent walk to the base.

To call it a base, actually, was a bit of a stretch. True, it was a dock and it contained a few naval boats, but it was merely an inlet used by small craft to shelter from the ravages of the sea. It was protected on all sides by cliffs and forests, with only a small channel leading to the sea. Like Port Wellington, it was clearly abandoned.

"Well, even if there's no boat," declared Ford, "It's a perfect place to base ourselves...assuming there's no monsters here, anyway."

Wirt swallowed.

"There's probably no monsters, kid," chuckled Ford, patting Wirt on the back. Wirt was not reassured.

Only one craft remained afloat in the harbour - a patrol boat by the name of _Caledonia_. Even then, Ford knew it would need work. There were holes above the waterline that would let water in on rough seas. The engine was clearly in need of urgent repair. The wheel was missing, there was very little cover from the elements, and much of the railing was gone. Still, it was salvageable - it would just take work.

"Well, we'll start thinking of fixing it tomorrow," shrugged Ford, "In the meantime, we can sleep in that building there."

He pointed to the old barracks, which was decrepit and unwelcoming but at least had a roof.

Ford and Wirt walked up to the door. Ford was about ready to break down the door when he heard whispering from inside. The two listened carefully.

"...Log Date 7 19 2. It's late afternoon in this strange new region, and there's still no sign of Steven or any of the other Crystal Gems. I'm... _worried_ about them. Worried, ha...I am really am losing it… In any case, the moisture in the air indicates that the... _rain_ is coming, so I have decided to postpone my search until-"

Wirt sneezed

"What, who was that? Show yourselves!"

Ford gingerly opened the door.

A small, green figure was standing inside the barrack room, pointing at the door in a failed attempt to look threatening. A small green gem was embedded in her forehead, and she wore what looked like a one-piece unitard.

"...hello," said Ford, "My name is Stanford Pines, you can call me Ford, and this is Wirt. We mean you no harm and are just looking for shelter."

"You're...you're _green_ ," stammered Wirt.

The figure crossed her arms.

"And why should I trust you?" she demanded.

"We'll share our supplies," replied Ford.

"Plus," added Wirt, "We're lost too, so if you need help finding your way home, you can always join up with us, I guess."

"Oh yeah, good point Wirt," nodded Ford.

The green figure seemed to mull it over in her head.

"So you can find Steven," she said.

"We can certainly try, Ms…" said Ford.

The figure nodded.

"Very well, we can join forces, for now," she declared, missing Ford's attempt to ask her name, "You may join my shelter."

* * *

The figure was called Peridot. She was a Gem, an alien from a far-off planet who was now exiled on Earth for insulting her leader. Ford had found her story fascinating ('Polymorphic sentient rocks!") and had pressed for more details, but Peridot seemed to find him perplexing and annoying, so he didn't get much. Wirt kept to himself for the night, repurposing an old bunk for a bed.

"Alright," said Ford, "I looted a few snacks from that trading post, but we're going to have to start foraging if we want to avoid starvation."

He handed Wirt and Peridot a handful of food each.

"Oh, I don't... _eat,_ " said Peridot, "That's a purely _human_ weakness."

"Fascinating!" said Ford without a hint of sarcasm.

"You use that word a lot," noted Peridot.

"In any case, we need to rest well," declared Ford, "Starting tomorrow, we need to get to work on making that boat seaworthy."

He glanced over to Wirt. The teen was already snoring away.

"Well, he's definitely on that," chuckled Ford.

"Ford?" Peridot said.

"What is it, Peridot?"

Peridot glanced out into the rain. There was a crack of thunder, and she shook a little.

"I know where _rain_ comes from," she said, "But what is... _lightning?_ Steven never told me..."

Ford smiled and sat down next to her.

"Well, when the clouds come together during a storm…"

* * *

 _Day Two._

 _I still see that twisted rendition of Stan in my head. It's_ _troubling_ _. Whatever forces are at work in this place seem to be able to get into my head - if we stay too long, we might well be driven to madness._

 _There is an upside, though - we have a boat and a new companion, Peridot. She's definitely unique, that one, but I find myself emphasising with her. In some ways, she reminds me of myself._

 _We'll start work on the_ Caledonia _in the morning. I'm thinking we'll plug those holes first - we're going nowhere in a leaky boat…_

* * *

AN: When people talk about Monster Stan, they're usually thinking of that one AU...


	20. 20 10 16: The Interview

I guess it had to happen one day

* * *

 **20/10/16: The Interview**

 _The following is a transcript on an interview conducted by Mr. M. Plier of prospective security guard Jèsus Ramirez, henceforth 'Soos'. The opinions expressed are not those of the company, and due to complicated legal wrangling, this document cannot be used as evidence by state prosecutors._

 _Dialogue conducted by the interviewer will be printed in bold - replies by the interviewee will be printed normally. Comments from the company supervisor will be added at their discretion in italics._

* * *

 **Hello, Mr. Ramirez, my name is Mark...I mean** ** _Mr. Plier_** **and this is your interview for the security guard position! How's it going?**

Uh, pretty good Mr. Plier. Look, I don't wanna sound like a bad employee or anything, but Stan needs me to clean the toilets at my other job by four, so...

 **Yeah, certainly, let's get right to it. First question! How good are you at following orders?**

Well, my employee reference says that I am both overly loyal _and_ gullible!

 **Excellent, excellent, those are just the traits we need for our cannon fod-I mean security guards! Anyway, just for the record, you are going to need to sit on a chair looking at screens all night - and we need people who'll do that even if** ** _every ounce of logic in their head_** **is telling them to run the hell away.** _[Employee citation - violation of Contract Clause 1 - do not make fun of the company.]_

Sure, I can do that. I'm pretty good at starting at screens, dood - one time I even dated a computer! We don't like to talk about that, though.

 **...I can imagine.** ** _Aaaaaaanyway_** **, next question; how many of these would you think could describe you? Brave?**

Yeah, maybe.

 **Foolhardy?**

Oh, definitely!

 **Willing to perform dangerous tasks for low pay-checks?**

Uh-huh.

 **Completely lacking a self-preservation instinct?**

Yep.

 **Unwilling to report obvious criminal activity to the police?**

Absolutely! I need to be able to turn a blind-eye to Stan's pug-trafficking ring!

 **And lastly, resourceful?**

Once I made a plane out of a go-kart and a mattress.

 **...**

I broke all of my bones.

 **Okay! So far, you're looking pretty good here, Mr. Ramirez. We've only got a couple more questions. Do you have anybody who might notice if you were to...I dunno...suddenly die from horrifying blunt force trauma overnight?** _[Employee citation - violation of Contract Clause 2 - do not imply possible death on the job - bad for morale.]_

Well, there's my abuelita...and Stan...maybe Dipper and Mabel? Oh, and the FLCORP guys!

 **Anybody with legal or law enforcement connections?**

No.

 **Excellent! Last question - are you afraid of animatronics?**

Of course not, dood! ...well, okay, maybe a little after the whole Giffany incident, but I can live. Heh, it's not like they're gonna kill me or anything, right?

 **Um...** ** _yyyyeaaah._** **Okay, you're good! Just sign this contract and you've got the job!**

Oh boy! I... _wait a minute_...were you implying that there's a possibility that I might be killed by animatronics?

 **Well, Mr. Ramirez, that's a** ** _sensitive_** **subject, um...suffice it to say, we have made some unpleasant discoveries over the years when we've been opening the restaurant** _[Employee citation - violation of Contract Clause 3 - do not mention the corpses.]_ **, but I** ** _think_** **the mortality rate has been declining in recent years.**

But people are still dying, right?

 **Look, the way the company sees it, every** ** _accident_** **is an opportunity! See, whenever a security guard** ** _dies_** **, we seem to get a new animatronics out of it. I can't lie, Mr. Ramirez, it reaches the point that feeding dumb schmucks to them every night becomes a sound business stratagem. I mean, the kids don't need to** ** _know_** **that their favourite animal-based robots are actually full of horribly-maimed walking corpses desperately screaming in their heads for the sweet relief of death, right?** _[Employee citation - violation of Contract Clause 4 - do not imply that the company is using security guards to control the animatronics in the same way one uses bread to control ducks.]_

Mr. Plier, that's horrible! That...that's _really_ horrible! What kind of person would take that job after you told them-

 **You get a dollar a night.**

I can start as soon as you want me, sir!

* * *

 _Note: Shortly after this interview, our locations around the country began to be shut down due to petty legalities such as 'OSHA violations', 'cadavers found on premises', 'FBI raids' and the occasional annoyance of 'the Avengers came in and beat all the animatronics up and shut the place down'._

 _We are happy to report, however, that many of our rural locations remain profitable, including the one where this interview was conducted, and remains available for family gatherings, parties, functions and use as hideouts for the militia._

 _Due to operational lapses seen in interviews like this, the hiring process will now be conducted by computers. Mr. Mark I. Plier is henceforth fired._

 _It should be not-_

" **Suddenly Zoidberg!** " bellows Dr. Zoidberg, bursting out from behind your screen.

...

Look, jumpscares are hard to do in text format, okay?

* * *

AN: i promised myself i'd never do a fnaf parody you know


	21. 21 10 16: Great White Fleet

Another day, another half-formed idea that probably will never come to anything.

* * *

 **21/10/16: Great White Fleet**

 _May 1902_

The Secretary for the Navy crossed his arms as he looked at the great battlefleet assembled before him aboard his yacht. There were nine capital ships assembled in the Hudson – nine great white ships paraded before the patriotic crowds on the riverfronts of Brooklyn and Manhattan. It was a dazzling sight.

The newest battleship in the American fleet – the _Alabama_ – led her classmates _Illinois_ and _Wisconsin_ at the vanguard of the parade. Behind them came _Kearsage_ and her sister _Kentucky_ , then the solitary _Iowa._ The comparatively elderly (though they were not ten years old) _Indiana, Massachusetts_ and _Oregon_ brought up the rear, giving off an elegant impression despite the decline of their military capability.

The Secretary was pleased, excited even, but not entirely satisfied. America's nine battleships – which would become twelve when the new _Maine_ -class was launched over the next few months – still wasn't up to the standard of the vaunted British Navy. It could take any other European fleet, yes sir, but the Secretary knew that the only way to assert America's independence was to be able to take on _any_ fleet, up to and including the Royal Navy.

The key to liberty, he had told the President, was control of the seas.

Still, it was a start, and the public seemed to like it. The hundreds – maybe thousands of New Yorkers that lined the Hudson treated the parade with a carnival air. American flags were waved, patriotic songs sung off the cuff (and off the _tune_ , quite honestly). Vendors and salesmen, both reputable and of the snake-oil variety, sold souvenirs that represented America's pride in her ships and sailors. The atmosphere was proud, pompous even, and without a care in the world.

It was naivety, of course. The Secretary knew, as those in the know knew, that a general European war was certain in the next decade or so, and that that war would tear down the global order. Some dreaded it, others revelled in the idea. In the typical manner of the American capitalist, many companies and businessmen had drawn their plans to profit from crisis – one might politely call that clever opportunism, the Secretary preferred 'war profiteering' as a term.

"It's a fine day, isn't it?"

Speak of the devil.

J. Pierpont Morgan, official guest of the Navy and owner of no less than forty-two major companies, swaggered his way to the Secretary's side. Morgan was an ugly man, red-faced and purple-nosed, with a large moustache and a balding head covered with a tall hat – but his wide shoulders and sheer physical side made him imposing nonetheless. Even more imposing than his physical form was his economic power – he was undoubtedly the wealthiest and most powerful businessman in the United States.

"Mr. Morgan," said the Secretary, curtly.

The Secretary was not scared by men like Morgan. He had faced more imposing men both on the field of battle and the field of governance. He was deeply concerned, however, of what Morgan _represented_ – the idea of the man with the money exercising more power than the man with the vote.

Morgan grasped the railing but made sure to keep his posture straight, clearly intending to intimidate the Secretary. His moustachioed lips twisted into a smile.

"These are impressive warships, good sir," he noted, "I have an interest in boating, and I..."

"You cannot buy these ships, Mr. Morgan," said the Secretary, allowing himself a smirk at the corporatist's expense, "They are rather required for the nation, you know."

Morgan narrowed his eyes but didn't take the bait.

"You misunderstand me, sir," he replied curtly, "I was simply going to compliment the _designs_ of our battleships."

He crossed his arms.

"A battlefleet to take on the British," he said, almost to himself, "Imagine it, sir. The markets that could be opened by a swift defeat of the British Empire..."

"I would advise you not to get your hopes up," replied the Secretary, "These are a deterrent. A guarantee of liberty, if you will. We have no plans for an adventure against the British."

"Perhaps we ought to make some," mused Morgan.

He tipped his hat.

"Good day, Mr. Roosevelt," he said cordially, walking away.

Secretary of the Navy Theodore Roosevelt narrowed his eyes at Morgan's retreating form, before returning his gaze to the fleet. A shadow was coming down over the rear ships, and Roosevelt nodded approvingly. The battleships were fine, but on their own, they didn't really warrant a parade. Not like the new ship.

Roosevelt tucked his hands behind his back and took in the large airship that was arriving over the Hudson. To the adulation of the American people, a great flying battleship was unveiled to the world.

The United States Dirigible _Liberty_ was the first of its kind, a long-range vessel designed to bring the raw power of the battleship inland. It was expensive, incredibly so, and it was still wrought with teething troubles, but it had the potential to change the world.

Roosevelt knew, perhaps more than anybody, that he had opened Pandora's Box. The race for supremacy in battleships and airships was now on.

* * *

 **AMERICAN BATTLEFLEET PARADES IN THE HUDSON  
Nine Men-o-War Delight Crowds; 'Finest Warships In The World To-Day' Says Roosevelt**

Daniel J. Fenton looked over the newspaper, which was adorned with images of the previous day's parade in the Hudson. The _Liberty_ took pride of place, of course, with a massive photograph that took up much of the front page of the New York Times. All other stories – President McKinley's visit to Philadelphia, the ongoing war in South Africa and something or another about the Baldwin Locomotive Works – were shunted into the margins – the fleet was the talk of the town.

It certainly looked impressive, Danny had to admit. The _Liberty_ was a bold design – the gas bag that would usually typify the airship was covered in fearsome steel armour. Batteries of heavy guns protruded from turrets along the keel and sides of the ship – two each on the port and starboard sides, and three on the bottom. An impressive inverted tower emerged from the keel towards the aft of the ship, which clearly contained the captain's bridge. All of this was painted in a dashing white, although the black-and-white photo didn't bring this much out.

Danny grabbed the newspaper, paying a quarter to the vender, and headed back to his family home, deep in thought. The Fenton Works – so his family home and business was called – was still three blocks away, so he had time to do so.

Danny had never particularly wanted to join in his parents' line of work. For a start, their line of work had made them something of a laughing stock – they claimed to hunt ghosts and spirits, which was frankly insane to most. They were good people, mind, but they were eccentrics and Danny simply was not. Yet the only other option for a young man such as himself was to leave. Where would he go?

He looked back at the paper – back at the _Liberty_. The fleet was respected these days – adored, even. Conditions had improved since the bad old days of floggings and scurvy, and as a fairly middle-class sort he could definitely get into a naval academy. And if he joined, he would be free to pursue his own path, unrestrained by the oddness of his parents. And he might – _might_ – get to go aboard that ship.

By the time he was home, Danny had decided to join the Navy. He felt rather better for the decision – although he had decried his sister for her obsession with the subject, it had made him feel quite mature.

He turned a corner, aiming to cut through an alleyway to his street, and stopped.

On the wall before him, somebody had painted a message. It was not a long message – only a word, in fact – nor did it look very important, but it struck him all the same.

 _AMITY_

Danny shook his head.

"What does that even mean?" he asked himself, "Oh, who cares, I need to get home..."

He paid it no more heed and walked away. He never saw it shimmer, ripple and fade away.

* * *

AN: I just wanted to write about battleships, okay?


	22. 22 10 16: The Cafe

I made this all up as I went along.

* * *

 **22/10/16:** **The Cafe**

" _Inside Out_ ," said Danny, "Is the most existentially terrifying Pixar movie."

He and Valerie had met up in a small cafe near the centre of town, drinking coffee and talking about the world as young students are wont to do. It was a lovely day and they'd found a seat by the window.

Valerie tilted her head.

"What the heck do you mean by that?" she asked.

"It's the idea that all of this person's emotions and memories and stuff are controlled by little people in her head," replied Danny, "I mean, does she really have any free will? Is she just a puppet to the emotions? Does it stop there? Are there little people inside of the emotions' heads?"

"You mean...Inside _Inside_ Out?"

"Yeah," said Danny, "And what if it still doesn't stop there? Are there emotions controlling the emotions controlling the emotions? Is there an end? Is it just...eternal?"

"It's Joy all the way down," chuckled Valerie.

Danny shuddered, shaking his head.

"You know what I don't get about Pixar?" added Valerie, " _Cars_. Why did that movie need a sequel?"

"I guess they think sequels make money," shrugged Danny, "People know what they're getting into, you know?"

"Well, if I'm ever in a pointless and unnecessary sequel, just hit me."

The end of a long breadstick whacked her in the back of the head. She winced.

"Ouch!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said AJ, who had just been walking past with Chester, "I seem to have hit you with my comically large breadstick."

"No problem," shrugged Valerie.

She and Danny watched them walk away.

"Why do they need such a big stick of bread?" asked Danny.

"Maybe they're just _really_ hungry?" suggested Valerie.

"Or maybe it's a metaphor."

Phillip J. Fry was sitting at a table nearby, gazing intently at the distant breadstick.

"For what?" asked Valerie.

"Think about it," replied Fry, "It's got a hard, impassive masculine exterior, showing the world a stoic and unmoving figure - but once you bite through that hard, cold outside, you find a soft and warm interior, hidden away from the judgemental eyes of society, only fleeting seen before the bread is devoured by cruel fate."

There was a long silence.

"So...you think it's a metaphor for masculinity?" asked Danny.

"Yeah, because it sorta looks like a pe-"

"Attention everybody!"

The door flew open. A moustachioed man in a red coat and pith hat burst into the room, waving a revolver in the air.

"My name is Colonel Sir Hubert Farthing-Barnsley the Third of the First Battalion of the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers!" he declared loudly, "And I am looking for _brave_ and _noble_ recruits for a _crusade_ against _barbarism!_ "

"Oh boy," said Danny.

"Our noble sovereign, Her Majesty Queen Victoria, has been _insulted_ and _belittled_ by foreign powers!" bellowed Farthing-Barnsley, "Specifically by the _cruel_ and _dastardly_ kingdom of _Equestria_ and her _devil-spawn_ of a queen, Celestia! These insults to life and property _will not stand!_ The British Army is prepared to march on these _bedevilled scoundrels,_ in support of the _true sovereign_ , Her Majesty Queen Luna, and the honour of Britannia, and I ask all brave and adventurous sorts among you to _flock to the colours_ and fight for the _integrity_ of all _nations! WHO'S WITH ME?!_ "

There was a very long silence. Somebody coughed.

"...alright, I...I guess I'll head off then," shrugged Farthing-Barnsley.

He strode back out the door, singing to himself.

" _We don't want to fight but by jingo if we do, we've got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too..._ "

"Well, that was weird," said Danny, "I mean, what's he hoping to prove? The Empire's dead, Queen Victoria's been gone for a hundred years and..."

"Let him have his fun," replied Valerie, "He's not hurting anyone. He's just like a somewhat extreme historical reenactor."

She blinked.

"Anyway, what were we talking about?"

"I can't remember," shrugged Danny, "Wasn't it something about _Inside Out_ be..."

He suddenly stopped talking. His mouth seemed to be stuck mid-syllable.

"Uh, Danny?" asked Valerie, "Are you okay?"

There was a strange banging sound, and she heard a muffled cry.

"Dang it! Yep, it's gone, we'll need a new one. We'll have to ask..."

There was a dull beep. The top of Danny's head began to open, his scalp and hair falling back like a hatch being opened. Valerie's jaw dropped - inside Danny's head was a tiny room full of cubicles which bore some resemblance to an office. A tiny woman in a shirt and tie - Valerie thought she looked like Dani and her nametag confirmed that that was her name - climbed onto the top of Danny's forehead, flanked by what looked like security guards.

"Hey! It's Valerie, isn't it?" she called.

"Uh...yes?" replied Valerie.

"Danny's light of intelligence just went out," explained Dani.

"You mean he died?!" exclaimed Valerie.

"What? No! I mean it burst," said Dani, "We need a new bulb."

Valerie gaped, shaking her head slightly.

"...a-a bulb?" she repeated, "Just...a regular bulb?"

"12-watt, yeah," nodded Dani, "Can you get one?"

There was a cough. They turned - the waitress was standing next to the table.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

"You have a bulb?" asked Dani.

"Coming right up," nodded the waitress, walking away.

There was a long silence.

"So...you're the little people in Danny's head," said Valerie.

"Yep," nodded Dani casually.

"Hey, Dani, you got a time on that bulb?" somebody called from inside Danny's head, "I need the computers back so I can...uh...work."

"You mean so you can use the computers to play _Battlefield_?" asked Dani.

"...yes."

"It's coming, Timmy, just give it a minute."

"Here's your bulb."

The waitress handed Valerie a bulb, which had helpfully been put on a saucer. Valerie nodded and gave a thumbs up, and the waitress walked away.

"Okay, give it here," nodded Dani.

"You're...uh...like an inch tall," replied Valerie, looking at the far larger bulb.

"Yeah, just hand it over," she said, extending her hand.

Valerie reached over and held the bulb to Dani. She grabbed it with her hand, and in an instant it shrunk down to her size.

"Great, thanks! We'll have Danny back online in a moment, hang on."

She handed the bulb to a security guard, who nodded and ran back into Danny's head.

"So...is Danny a robot or something?" asked Valerie.

"What? No," replied Dani, "You're just looking at a metaphorical concept that renders the complexities of human thought into a comprehensible form. Everybody has one."

"Why am I having déjà vu?" asked Spongebob, walking past with Sandy.

"Don't think about it," shrugged Sandy.

There was another beep.

"Okay, bulb's in," nodded Dani, as Danny's head began to close, "See you around, Val, thanks for the help."

Danny's head closed again.

"...what was I saying?" he asked, blinking.

"I...uh...never mind," replied Valerie, "Do you ever get the feeling that our lives have become one big circle of weirdness that has no beginning or end? Because that's how I'm feeling right now."

"I dunno," replied Danny, "Anyway, I was watching TV with Sam and Tucker last night and just had this thought..."

"Yeah?" asked Valerie.

" _Inside Out_ ," said Danny, "Is the most existentially terrifying Pixar movie."

* * *

AN: I've always wanted to do a story which had the same first and last lines.


	23. 23 10 16: The Fable of the Two Castles

A fairy tale. With guns

* * *

 **23/10/16: The Fable of the Two Castles**

Once there were two castles, each on mountainsides that stood on opposite sides of a peaceful valley. Within this valley there had been peace for a hundred years - peasants and merchants lived, roamed and traded freely, without thought of allegiance or fealty or any such difference. Alas, it was not to last.

One day, the King in the East, King Preston, had his daughter betrothed to the prince of the castle in the west. In anticipation of this political alliance, the King in the West, King Dashiel Baxter the Elder, who was about to pass in favour of his young son Prince Dash, called a gala at great personal expense, to which every noble was invited.

What King Preston did not anticipate was that his daughter, Princess Pacifica, had no desire to be wed to the brash and egotistical Prince Dash, who in any case felt entitled to her affection. The night before the gala, she spirited away with her lady-in-waiting, Lady Mabel, for parts unknown. And thus when King Preston failed to present his daughter to the gathered crowds at the gala, both he and Prince Dash were humiliated in front of all of the nobility. They blamed each other. King Dashiel called for calm, but he died that very night. War became inevitable.

The two kingdoms sent their knights to fight on horseback in the valley, but as their knights were equally capable at fighting, no winner emerged in the contest. Both kings turned to their scientists and alchemists to find a solution to the deadlock.

King Preston's chief alchemist, Jimmy, devised a solution. It was a projectile weapon that fired a lead ball and was ignited by gunpowder - a musket. The muskets were inaccurate and often dangerous, but they rendered the knights' armour worthless - especially when they were coupled with another invention, the cannon.

For a time, the Eastern Kingdom was winning against the West. But before long, they had copied the muskets and the cannons, and their chief mage, AJ, had augmented them with a long-range explosive device called the mortar. The war stalemated again, and in order to supply themselves, the roaming armies raided farms for food and forcibly conscripted peasants. Dark times fell upon the peaceful peoples of the valley.

The two armies, their armour useless, adopted colourful uniforms and standards to identify themselves. The East wore red and the West wore blue, and wearing the colour of the enemy came to be considered a crime. As a result, the peasants were forced to wear earthy and drab colours to keep themselves safe.

King Dash was unhappy with the accuracy of his muskets, and he demanded AJ to provide his armies with better guns. And so, AJ developed the rifle, a more accurate musket, and it was provided to small units of elite marksmen. Suddenly, generals leading from the front found themselves in serious danger, and they were forced to direct their battles from far to the rear. Before long, Jimmy had copied the rifle and developed a green uniform that prevented the skirmishers using them from being seen. And again, the war became a stalemate and raged on.

Some people in both kingdoms became sick of the war and protested long and hard against it. Neither king would have this, and the protestors were mostly shot or executed in front of large crowds. The survivors, led by a man named Steven in the east and a woman named Sandy in the west, banded together and retreated to caves in a distant mountain.

King Preston's impatience knew no bounds and he demanded more weapons of Jimmy. Before long, a rifle that could be loaded by way of bolt-action had been devised and issued to all troops, again shifting the balance of power. But before long, AJ had developed a countermeasure - a machine gun. Thousands of Eastern soldiers were cut down by the new weapons. In order to destroy them, Jimmy developed modern heavy artillery, which the West quickly copied. In order to survive these new weapons, the soldiers on the front dug deep trenches into the ground. The centre of the valley became a blasted wasteland, and the peasants fled in terror to the rear, cut off from families and friends on the other side of the new 'front line'.

In the West, AJ presented his king with another new weapon - a terrible armoured vehicle known as the 'tank'. Dozens of these tanks were thrown at the front line, flanked by infantry in new camouflaged uniforms and steel helmets, but they were quickly countered by the East's new invention, the aeroplane. These inventions broke the static front line, but they meant that before long, everywhere was considered the 'front', and everybody was in constant danger.

The new weapons became bigger and bigger. Simple biplanes became massive four-engine bombers. Clunky tanks became sophisticated machines of war. Terrible weapons like poison gas and flamethrowers turned the entire valley into a bombed, scarred nightmare. But still, the war raged.

Both kings demanded a final weapon that could break the backs of their opponents. Jimmy and AJ, both desperate for an end and determined to prove themselves the better inventers, turned to the last science that hadn't been tested. They worked on the biggest and most powerful weapon ever devised.

On the same day, they presented their design to their kings.

One morning, two flights of big, silver bombers took off from their airfields on both sides, bound for their respective enemy castles and armies.

In an instant, all of the struggles and quarrels of the big men in their big castles were rendered irrelevant. The rich aristocrats and the engineers who had enabled the war were incinerated in an instant as their castles disintegrated into invisible vapours. Fire swept the land, burning away everything in its past. The armies and the battlefields and the villages were wiped from the face of the earth.

From far away, those pacifists in their caves watched as great mushroom clouds ascended high into the sky, rising over the burnt and twisted corpses of two kingdoms and their eternal follies. For all its vile horror, the atom bombs had done exactly what their creators had intended.

And there was peace upon the valley.

* * *

AN: **OH LOOK IT'S A SUBTLE AESOP**


	24. 24 10 16: Alien!

I'm not saying it's aliens, but it's aliens.

* * *

 **24/10/16: Alien!**

They brought the alien into headquarters at about 11am sharp. Agent Powers watched as his men brought in the bound creature on the slab. His partner, Agent Trigger, looked down at the being, making sure it was the correct target - he nodded and gave Powers the thumbs up. It was time to begin the interrogation.

Powers and his men had been watching this case for some time. Their surveillance of the Swollen Eyeball Network had led them to Dib Membrane's theory that an alien resided in his local area. After much investigation, they had concluded that there was, in fact, an extraterrestrial in the area - the patterns were there, everything made sense. They'd made the grab. Now came the hard part.

"Take off the bag, Trigger," he ordered, "I wanna see this with my own eyes."

Trigger nodded, removing the bag over the being's head. The men guarding the slab gasped - one visibly gagged.

"It's more alien than I could have ever imagined," said Powers, shaking his head.

Gaz Membrane winced at the sterile interrogation room lights. She furrowed her brow and clenched her bound fists.

"Let me go," she growled, "Or I am going to make your worst nightmares look _tame_ compared to what will happen to..."

"Threaten all you like, _Gazlene_ ," replied Powers, "We've taken steps to ensure the defensive measures in your dwelling have been neutralised."

"We blew up your bedroom with C4," said Trigger helpfully.

* * *

Professor Membrane opened the door to Gaz' room and stared at the massive hole in his house.

"Hmm," he said, "I guess it's finally time to perform that renovation."

He pointed at the ceiling.

"This looks like a job for _SCIENCE!_ "

* * *

"Anyway," continued Powers, "We've been watching you for some time, Gazlene. We've come to believe your brother's claim that an alien exists in your town, and we're taking steps to neutralise them."

"Neutralise!" repeated Trigger, sticking his finger in Gaz' face.

"What, you people want me to tell you where Zim is?" demanded Gaz.

"Don't victimise that poor boy!" shouted Trigger.

"No, this 'Zim' is too harmless and incompetent to pose a real threat to national security," replied Powers, "Alien or otherwise - we're still on the fence."

"Could be a mutant," nodded Trigger, crossing his arms.

" _You_ , on the other hand," added Powers, "Are the _real_ threat to us."

"What," Gaz said flatly.

"Don't play dumb with me," snarled Powers, " _Alien_."

"I'm not an alien, you _moron!_ " snapped Gaz, "Now let me out and your eternal suffering might be slightly less painful!"

"We're asking the questions, ET!" bellowed Trigger.

"That wasn't a question, Trigger," grunted Powers.

"Oh...sorry, I...uh...I got carried away," said Trigger sheepishly, "I-I don't get to do this very often."

Powers nodded curtly.

"First question," he said, "Where do you come from, alien?"

"Bite me."

Powers blinked.

"That's...uh...she's insulting you, sir," said Trigger.

"Right, I was just making sure it wasn't an alien custom," nodded Powers, "Alright, _ma'am_ , if you're not going to be cooperative, we're going to have to make you talk. Trigger!"

"Yes sir?"

" _Give me your keys._ "

Trigger reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his car keys - a small keychain with an LED light hung off them. Powers took it, and they both put on sunglasses.

"Shield your eyes, gentlemen," said Powers.

The guards turned their backs. Powers leant down, pointing the LED light at Gaz' face, and pushed the button.

" _AARGH! Why would you do that, you weirdo!_ " bellowed Gaz, wincing at the incredibly bright light.

"Talk, alien!" demanded Powers, "Or you're going to have really irritating spots in your eyes for a very long time!"

" _Go to hell, you...you...TURN IT OFF!_ "

"You know what I want, Gazlene," said Powers, "We can stop this..."

" _I...I...alright, I'll tell you everything!_ "

Powers smirked and took his thumb off the button.

"Well then," he said, "Let's begin."

* * *

Within about an hour, they had all the answers they could have wanted. Granted, some seemed to be difficult translations from whatever the alien's strange, dark language was, but they were close enough.

The interrogation report went as follows;

 _NAME: GAZLENE (human identity Gaz Membrane)_

 _SPECIES: Name untranslatable, bears resemblance to some English swear words_

 _HOMEWORLD: Believed to be OUTTOMAROOM, considering widespread use in vocal communication by subject. After LED interrogation, subject confirmed this._

 _INTENT: The intent of the GAZLENE is believed to be the observation of amateur paranormal investigator Dib Membrane, as well as performing a campaign to demoralise him through consistent mistreatment. Her minions, referred to as SECURITY, may be in the process of being mobilised for invasion of Earth but this could not be confirmed._

 _CAPABILITIES: May have the ability to send beings to NIGHTMARE DIMENSION but no visible proof of this has been received by the agency. Extremely terrifying to small children and many adults._

 _PHYSIQUE: Head is disturbingly large. Eyes appear to be constantly closed unless enraged or surprised, yet this has no apparent effect on her vision. Hair naturally purple, greasy to the touch. Autopsy on innards will begin shortly._

 _FINDINGS: Almost certainly a hostile alien life-form. Attempts at negotiation considered unlikely to produce response. Autopsy authorised._

Agent Powers put down his pen as a man in a hazmat suit entered the room. He nodded to him and pointed to Gaz, who was staring at the new arrival.

"Alright," he said, "You're authorised to begin dissection immediately. We'll watch from outside."

"What happens if there's, like, a facehugger in there or something?" asked the man in the hazmat suit.

"Then your service will be honoured."

"Wait," protested Gaz, "You...you can't just _cut me open!_ You...you'll regret this! I'll destroy you! I'll wipe your family out! And then I'll go after Dib for letting this happen!"

"Be careful, agent," said Powers as he, Trigger and the guards headed for the door, "She's loud. Guard your feelings."

"Wilco, sir."

"You can't do this!" screamed Gaz, "You can't..."

" _STOP!_ "

A government agent burst in the door.

"Stop everything!" he repeated, "We've confirmed she's not an alien!"

Powers and Trigger glanced at each other, then back at the new agent.

"But...our findings," said Powers.

"They've been edited by aliens, sir," replied the agent, "Most likely the one called Zim. We think he was trying to get Gazlene here dissected to make 'the Dib-stink feel bad'. That's a direct quote."

"So...we nearly killed a human," said Powers.

"Heh!" said Trigger nervously, "Boy would our faces have been red!"

There was a long silence.

"Chloroform and mind wipe?" suggested Trigger.

"Chloroform and mind wipe," nodded Powers, handing the hazmat man a flannel.

They turned back to the other agent as the hazmat man casually chloroformed Gaz.

"Just a question," asked Trigger, "How'd you know about this Zim thing?"

"Oh, some other government agency just grabbed him," shrugged the agent, "Nothing to worry about."

"What agency?" demanded Powers, "There's nobody else operating in the area!"

"Um...PURITY," replied the agent, "Why?"

Powers' eyes widened.

"Because there's no such agency in the US Government."

* * *

The PURITY troopers ignored Zim's protests as they shoved him into the back of the helicopter. Behind them, other soldiers had rounded up the students in the yard, holding them back at gunpoint to prevent them from trying to help their green-skinned classmate (not that they really need to have been worried).

Dib made his way to the front of the crowd, marching up to a soldier.

"What's going on?" he demanded, "Where are you taking him?"

"Don't worry, sir," replied the soldier, "You won't have to deal with filth like that again."

He sneered.

"We're cleaning house."

As the PURITY helicopter began to lift off, others flew through the sky above, heading for the near-distant shape of the city skyline. As he watched them begin to land all across the city, Dib had a bad feeling that something terrible was about to happen...

* * *

AN: This ain't good.


	25. 25 10 16: Department Seventeen

Many plot, so revelation, wow.

* * *

 **25/10/16: Department Seventeen**

 _Amiens, August 1918._

 _Private Armin Rausseman stared agape at the oncoming tide._

 _Before him, he could see thousands of British infantry advancing over the field, overrunning the confused and exhausted German army before them. The lozenge-shaped tanks rumbled around them, blasting the once impenetrable German bunkers and machine gun posts into rubble. British and French planes blanketed the skies._

 _An officer bellowed an order, waving his pistol in the air. Rausseman and his fellows sprang into action, preparing their artillery piece to open fire at the advancing enemy. The loaders lugged a massive shell into the breach of the steel beast - Rausseman called the enemy's map coordinates and the gunners elevated the gun. With a deafening roar, the gun fired._

 _Then there came a terrible rumble._

 _A British tank crested the ridge, rolling straight towards the gun emplacements. It's machine gun opened fire - Rausseman dived to the ground as the gunners around him were cut down. He aimed his rifle and fired at the armoured monster, but there was no effect. He cringed as fear overtook him - he cowered in the mud, dropping his rifle._

 _A few minutes later, he felt himself dragged to his feet. An English sergeant was holding a Webley at his chest, barking orders to surrender at him._

 _As he was dragged away, something inside Rausseman swore he would never lose himself to that fear again - that he would always make sure that overwhelming might was on_ his _side._

* * *

Operation Cleansing Tide was swift and brutal.

PURITY's deep cover agents had done their work well, Major Wilkus noted. Air detection systems across the United States, from NORAD to the smallest observation station, had been rendered non-functional by the viruses of their associate hackers. 'Useful idiots' had distracted police and government responses with staged demonstrations and riots, allowing PURITY's fast attack helicopters to roam unhindered. Conditions for the capture of the 'Dossier Subjects' were ideal.

Nowhere was this more clear than in the city of New York.

PURITY had trained hard for this day. Their chief advantage over the freaks, they knew, was surprise - the fastest possible insertions resulted in the best possible results. The stun weapons R&D had fixed them up with worked almost perfectly.

At very least, they hadn't had to get into infantry combat with the Hulk, which had been Wilkus' biggest fear.

Wilkus watched from his command helicopter, hovering in place above the Empire State Building, as the 'snatch and grab' choppers began to take off. He smirked.

"Sir," one of his command staff called, "We have a complication!"

"What happened?" demanded Wilkus.

"Several Avengers couldn't be located, sir," replied the staffer, "We have no confirmed contact with Stark, Rogers, Barton or Khan."

"Understood," nodded Wilkus, "Report that to Rausseman immediately."

He looked back outside the chopped, arms behind his back. These were mild complications - they would be dealt with shortly.

* * *

 _Nuremberg, 1935._

 _SS-Hauptsturmführer Armin Rausseman snapped to attention and saluted his superior officers. Reinhard Heydrich and the other officer returned the salute - the other man offered Rausseman his hand._

 _"Brigadeführer Schumann," said the man, "Heydrich tells me you have a mind for science?"_

 _"Jawohl, Herr Brigadeführer," nodded Rausseman, "I studied genetics after the war, sir."_

 _"Schumann," said Heydrich, "Is about to begin work on a genetics program that may be vital to the Reich in the coming war. Department Seventeen, it's called."_

 _"How so, sir?" asked Rausseman._

 _"_ Ubersoldaten _, Hauptsturmführer," replied Schumann, "With the proper medicinal procedures, we can create a soldier worth fifty of the enemy."_

 _"Like Schmitt's program?" asked Rausseman._

 _Schumann sniffed and Heydrich rolled his eyes._

 _"The Red Skull," he spat, "Is an amateur. What we shall be doing will be_ art _. And I'm interested in making you my deputy. What do you say?"_

 _Rausseman saluted again._

 _"Jawohl!"_

 _"Good man."_

* * *

PURITY hit Fenton Works hard and fast.

Two men stormed the front door, two went in the back - two rappelled into the upstairs windows from their helicopter. Jack and Maddie Fenton were hastily secured and dragged away to act as hostages - Jazz Fenton could not be found.

Danny was in his room as they came in. A PURITY trooper burst through his window, swiftly pointing a tazer-like device at him. Before he could react, he had been zapped and was knocked out.

"Phantom is secure, repeat, Phantom is secure," the soldier reported into his radio.

" _Copy - roving choppers have secured most spook contacts. Let's head in._ "

Outside, PURITY was systemically clearing Amity Park of ghosts. And not very far away, Dani hid in the sewer and waited for them to leave.

* * *

 _The Austrian Alps, November 1942._

 _Brigadeführer Armin Rausseman had been reborn._

 _Well, perhaps that was a tad dramatic. What had happened was that Armin Rausseman had been administered the ubersoldaten procedure and had therefore been brought to what Schumann called 'the height of human potential'. He was bigger, stronger, healthier - and all without the technological or chemical perversions that other organisations in the Reich had suggested._

 _Now came the PR circus. Party officials and army officers had come down from Berlin to rubberneck at the facility, likely to court favours from the now-popular Schuman. Locusts, the lot of them, but men that had to be entertained._

 _As he stood in the entrance hall of the Alpine estate, talking to some vapid Party man, he noticed Schuman walking up to him, hand extended. He took it, grinning._

 _"Armin, we've done a good thing here," said Schuman, "We'll be remembered for th-"_

 _BANG._

 _The room descended into cacophony. Men had ascended onto the balcony, firing down at the SS guards who had been caught completely by surprise. Looking closely at them, Rausseman recognised them as British commandos._

 _"Morris, take out the commander!"_

 _"Aye sir!"_

 _Rausseman looked up. A British commando leaned over the railing of the balcony, Thompson aimed at Schuman. Rausseman could have stopped him - his hand was on the grip of his service pistol - but his eyes fell to the commando's uniform and helmet - so similar in shape and colour to the enemy of the last war, the army that had shattered his regiment. Suddenly he wasn't the pride of the Third Reich - he was a scared young artilleryman once again._

 _The commando fired. Schuman's body jerked in a macabre fashion, and he slumped to the floor._

* * *

The PURITY team burst into the beach house, weapons drawn. Greg Universe jumped and fell off the couch as they advanced on him, pointing their guns at his head.

"Where are the Crystal Gems?!" bellowed their sergeant.

"What?"

" _Where are the Crystal Gems?!_ " screamed the sergeant.

"I-I-they're not here, I'm just house-sitting!" exclaimed Greg.

"Well then," said the sergeant, "You're gonna help us drawn 'em out. Reynolds?"

Another soldier nodded and slammed the butt of his rifle into Greg's face. As he slumped to the ground, the sergeant turned to his men.

"Grab the Maheswaren family and the Big Donut staff," he ordered, "We're luring them in."

The men nodded and raced out of the beach house.

* * *

 _Alaska, 1947._

 _Oberstgruppenführer Armin Rausseman was attending a meeting in a small, cold bunker room._

 _"The plan will be simple," said Reichsleiter Voss, pointing at the map, "We will arrange the u-boats all along the American western coast. V-3 missile strikes will destroy all Yankee defensive positions and spread nerve gas throughout the major urban centres - Hollywood will be a primary target for reasons of morale. Once the Americans are sufficiently confused and disoriented, SS troopers and naval infantry will secure the major cities on the Californian coast, destroy American capital ships and anchor and establish a base to advance inland."_

 _The so-called Führer - a portly former Gauleiter from the Alps - nodded, a sneer crossing his ugly features. He crossed his arms._

 _"The operation is approved," he declared._

 _"May I offer a military critique of this plan?" interjected Rausseman._

 _The Führer turned to him, brow raised._

 _"Rausseman?"_

 _"This plan is ridiculous," snapped Rausseman, "Even supposing that we can get our u-boats to within spitting distance of the United States, they would be sunk en masse by their destroyer screens. Even if they weren't, the US Army would wipe out any landing parties sent ashore, and even if that didn't happen, civilian resistance would be insurmountable. We must wait here until our forces are properly prepared..."_

 _"By the time our forces are prepared to your standards," spat Voss, "All of us but you would be dead."_

 _"Such are the perks of the ubersoldaten formula," admitted Rausseman, shrugging._

 _"Your objections are overruled," snarled the Führer, "The Reich has been sullied enough by unimaginative military minds. We will go ahead."_

 _Rausseman shook his head._

 _"It's a shame it had to come to this, then."_

 _The door flew open. Two massive, armoured men marched into the room, holding enormous machine guns at the gathered Nazi Party officials. The ordinary sentries already in the room pointed their rifles at Voss and the Führer without a word._

 _"What is the meaning of this?" spluttered the Führer._

 _"I'm afraid that I'm changing the regime..._ Mein Führer _," replied Rausseman._

 _He turned to the ubersoldaten behind him._

 _"Gentlemen," he said, "_ Fire. _"_

 _The sound of gunfire filled the capacity._

 _A minute or so later, Rausseman walked casually out of the room, flanked by his ubersoldaten._

 _"Nazi Germany is no more," he declared, "Henceforth, we shall be..._ PURITY. _"_

* * *

"General."

Rausseman snapped out of his train of thought. A tall ubersoldaten officer in fine gold-painted armour stood before him, standing at attention.

"Captain," nodded Rausseman.

"Operation Cleansing Tide has been a success," said the captain, "But the US air defence network has come back online and we won't get an opportunity to make a second run."

"Not a problem," said Rausseman, "We won't go to them. We'll get them to come to us."

He stood up.

"Prepare a broadcast," he said, "It's time to speak to the world."

* * *

AN: Quick note - tomorrow's shot may be short. I have to visit somebody at the hospital in the evening.


	26. 26 10 16: E350's Fanfiction Explained

I tried!

* * *

 **26/10/16: E350's Fanfiction Explained Poorly**

Hi, I'm E350! Today I had to visit somebody in the hospital and didn't have much time to write. I apologise for this but my family is more important. Sorry.

However, I have a duty to this website and I intend to fulfil it! I intended to storm Parliament House with a Tommy Gun as a hilarious prank, but then Timmy informed me that that's neither hilarious nor a prank - that's insurrection. So instead, here are some of my past fanfiction exercises explained very badly. Enjoy!

* * *

 **End Times:** Anti-Cosmo's vague evil plan kills most of the cast.

 **Middle Grounds:** The President overreacts a bit and kills most of the cast.

 **The Beginning:** Freakshow's vague evil plan kills most of the cast.

 **Chaos and Eggnog:** Thanks to Southern racists, the Nicktoons are cursed by Santa's helper.

 **Quest for the Orb of Power:** Danny beats up dead Germans to find a magic ball.

 **Stage Fright:** Spongebob's mind is poisoned by an insecure colonist.

 **A Day in the Lab:** Jimmy's kind of a jerk.

 **Darkness Rising:** TV dooms the world.

 **Planktopolis Now:** A man misses a bus, resulting in Ocean Stalin.

 **It Came From Retroville:** It didn't actually come from Retroville.

 **Destiny:** Danny's day is ruined by bizarre laws of succession.

 **Forever Autumn: The Destiny of Dipper Pines:** A chaos god and his cultists combine their considerable powers to make a boy feel sad at school.

 **Forever Autumn II: The All-Seeing Eye:** Gideon has a tantrum, endangering all life on Earth.

 **Over the Hills and Far Away:** Wirt's quest to save his brother comes against the unsurmountable obstacle of writer's block.

 **Unstuck:** Bill trolls Wendy throughout space and time.

 **The City on the Hill:** E350 desperately hopes Irrational Games won't sue him.

 **The Wolf and the Hounds:** Two men accidentally abduct people, hunt a woman and blow up part of Belgium.

 **Halloween Unspectacular:** Just a lot of nonsense, really.

* * *

AN: Tomorrow's will be much longer, I swear.


	27. 27 10 16: Of Presidents and Purity

A bridge chapter, but at least there's a nice speech.

* * *

 **27/10/16: Of Presidents and Purity**

It had not been a good morning.

The massive incursion of PURITY into American airspace had not gone totally unnoticed, despite what that organisation might have hoped. The President had been alerted immediately and a National Security Council meeting was immediately thrown together. It had begun with Hard Questions Being Asked of the head of the air force, followed quickly by Hard Questions Being Asked of the director of the NSA. According to the CIA and the NSA, a sudden and massive hack of the US military's computer systems had taken down NORAD and most other air-detection systems in the United States, while radar stations consistently failed to detect PURITY helicopters.

This in turn led to Hard Questions Being Asked of the Secretary of Defence as to why the radar installations had failed. The SECDEF and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs both hypothesised that PURITY had developed stealth helicopters more advanced than anything the US military had, which led to even more Hard Questions Being Asked of the Secretary of State as to who gave them the technology, and as to why nobody had brought up PURITY as a threat until today.

In the end, the meeting was dismissed without any real plan as to how to deal with what PURITY had done. The President had retreated to the Oval Office with his Vice-President to discuss what options they now had.

It was as they were doing this that the door opened. An army officer stepped into the room and saluted smartly.

"Mr. President, sir," he said, "There's someone here to see you."

"Who is it?" demanded the Vice-President.

"I think you'd better see for yourself, sir," replied the officer.

He stepped aside as a second figure entered the room.

Director Nicholas J. Fury strode into the room, arms behind his back. He saluted the President as the officer closed the door behind him.

"Mr. President," he said, "We know where they are."

There was a long silence.

"Well, _that_ was quick," said the Vice-President.

* * *

The President and Fury had moved to the situation room immediately. A map of the north-western American coast had been laid out over the table - Fury paced next to it, occasionally glancing disdainfully at the President's generals.

"PURITY is a well-trained and equipped military force," he explained, "With the latest state-of-the-art stealth technology keeping them hidden from the radio. There's just one thing they didn't realise that SHIELD would use to find them."

"What, did you people use magic x-ray installations or some nonsense?" General Ernest T. Abercrombie snorted.

"No, General," replied Fury, "We _looked up._ "

He reached into his coat and produced a set of photographs of helicopters heading north, throwing them onto the table.

"SHIELD put together every police report in the US and Canada that mentioned these helicopters, something the Pentagon failed and is still failing to do," continued Fury, "We've narrowed down the location of PURITY's base to _here_."

He pointed at the map.

"The Aleutians?" gasped the Vice-President, "They've been in the US the whole time?"

"Probably since the end of World War II," nodded Fury.

The President furrowed his brow, turning to the Secretary of State.

"Why wasn't I told about this?" he asked, "If I'd known about PURITY before today, I'd..."

"Mr. President, we believed they were a myth," replied the Secretary of State, "After the Second World War, Brigadeführer Rausseman and several others disappeared after destroying Department Seventeen's HQ with chemical weapons. There were rumours of Nazi u-boats in the Bering Sea, but we considered it to be hearsay. The CIA closed the book on Rausseman back when LBJ was President."

The Director of the CIA swallowed and adjusted his collar as the President glared at him.

"So what do we do?" asked the President.

"What do you think, Mr. President - we hit 'em hard and we hit 'em fast," snarled Abercrombie, "Enough B-52s and we'll flatten those Nazis into..."

"You'll kill innocent civilians!" snapped the Vice-President, "Need I remind you that they have hostages now?"

"Better dead than red," said Abercrombie.

The Vice-President shook his head.

"Abercrombie, Nazis are not communists."

"They're both dirty socialists, ain't they? Might as well be no difference!"

"Joe, Ernest, please," said the President, allowing himself the tiniest smirk, "No fighting in the war room."

Fury shook his head.

"As much as I'd hate to rain on your erotic bomber fantasies," he said, "We have a much more... _surgical_ plan. SHIELD is gathering operatives to infiltrate and destroy the PURITY headquarters. We'll need help from the US government to..."

"What would you need?" interrupted the President.

"Marines and naval support," replied Fury, "And lots of it."

"Outta the question," snarled an admiral, "Mr. President, we can't put US military assets under a maverick like..."

"Mr. President, sir!"

An aide burst into the room.

"It's Rausseman, Mr. President - he's taken over the airwaves!" exclaimed the aide.

The President narrowed his eyes.

"Put it on screen."

* * *

" _Ladies and gentlemen of the United States of America and the world. You have nothing to fear._ "

Jazz stood in front of the TV in the ransacked Fenton Works, remote in hand. Behind her, Dani, Timmy, Spongebob, Sandy and Jimmy sat on the couch, watching the broadcast.

" _I am General Armin Rausseman of the paramilitary organisation PURITY, and I am here to save the world. To save your families. To save your children. To save yourselves. To save the future._ "

Dani and Jazz glanced warily at each other. Jimmy huffed and crossed his arms.

* * *

" _Our 'incursion' into the United States was, in fact, a liberation. We have removed the most dangerous elements of society from the streets - the mutant, the abnormal, the inhuman, the strange - and quarantined them in our facility in far northern Alaska. We can assure you, they will never trouble you again._ "

Steven, Connie and the Gems watched from their hotel room. Steven swallowed anxiously and Connie gripped his hand.

" _But we are not finished. Operation Cleansing Tide still left dozens uncaptured. This must be rectified._ "

Pearl grimaced as she saw Amethyst mouthing a very rude word.

" _Therefore, I offer the United States government an ultimatum._ "

* * *

" _You have twenty-four hours to deliver all remaining abnormals to our base. If this happens, Mr. President, nothing else needs to happen._ "

Dipper and Mabel watched the broadcast with their parents on the couch in their living room. Suddenly, a loud skidding noise filled the air - looking out the window, the twins could see Soos' pickup truck sliding into the driveway.

" _But if it doesn't, then there will be dire consequences._ "

There was the sound of a car horn. Dipper and Mabel jumped up, unnoticed by their parents, glued to the broadcast.

" _Make the right choice, Mr. President, for we can tear you down at any time._ "

"Hop in, dudes!" Wendy yelled out the passenger door window as Dipper and Mabel ran out of the house.

* * *

" _I admire you, Mr. President, and so do most of us here at PURITY. Make the right choice by your country. Negotiate with us, and you will be remembered as the man who saved humanity._ "

On the screen, Rausseman smiled politely.

" _I humbly await your reply._ "

The screen dissolved into static. For a moment, the situation room was dead quiet.

"What a sanctimonious _jackass_ ," grunted the Vice-President.

"He may have a point, Mr. President," admitted Abercrombie, "Handing the freaks to them would make life down here a lot easier..."

"Rausseman is a hypocrite and a megalomaniac!" snarled Fury, "And I swear to god I will _not_ sit around a table with his-"

"It was Casablanca, wasn't it? Franklin Roosevelt?"

All eyes fell on the President.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Abercrombie.

"We chose to seek nothing less than the unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany," elaborated the President, "These PURITY people came from the SS, right?"

"Yes, Mr. President," nodded the Secretary of State.

"Then that does it," said the President, "Director Fury, you have a blank cheque."

He narrowed his eyes again.

"We are not negotiating with the Nazis."

* * *

AN: Cry havoc and let loose the pogs of war!

...wait.


	28. 28 10 16: The Most Patient Man on Radio

This was supposed to be a bit longer, but what can you do, eh?

* * *

 **28/10/16: The Most Patient Man on the Radio**

With thanks to AnimatedC9000, who wrote the caller side of the second phone call.

* * *

 _For all your news and cog'nive bias! One three-three A double-S!_

"Welcome back to the Larry Bohr hour. If you're just joining us, we've been discussing the recent attacks by 'PURITY', the speech by General Rausseman and the President's response to it. The phones are now open, and we already have a caller. Hello?"

 _"You know what, Larry? I blame the Jews! They-"_

"...and that's enough of that. Next caller. Hello?"

 _"Hello Larry._ "

"Do you have anything to say about this PURITY incident, sir?"

 _"Honestly, I'm tempted to believe this is some kind of false flag. There's a lot of fellows about who_ really _don't like people who aren't exactly like them, and this Nazi cock-and-bull story seems very suss to me."_

"I beg your pardon?"

 _"Way I see it, we're dealing with a secret operation launched by the far-right, almost certainly supported by Moscow and funded by Wall Street and Sillicon Valley!"_

"...you know what, I might have to let you go."

 _"We won't be silenced Larry, we won't be silenced! By the way, can I have the Internationale as a song request? It's just so-"_

 _[Beep.]_

"...okay. Let's take another caller. Hello?"

 _"Hey, thanks for taking in public opinions. I'm calling because there's... I think a little girl yelling in the streets? She's been doing this for three days straight. Keep seeing her during my commute to work. She's been yelling about the government and calling it names that I'm not entirely sure should be repeated on public radio."_

"I see."

 _"She's been parading down numerous blocks with this... message, I guess. I kinda feel sorry for her."_

"Hm. Can you tell us what the message was? I mean, with censorship, obviously. Can't...can't swear on the radio, y'know."

 _"Right. Uh, something about destroying them, wiping their family out, and Dib? Something called Dib. I don't-oh god."_

"Hm?"

 _"She spotted me."_

"I'm...maybe DIB is some kind of government thing?"

 _"If l-looks could kill..."_

"Hm..."

 _"Look, I don't know what DIB is, but that child is observing me and she'sabouttocomerightthiswayoHNO-"_

 _[Loud scuffling noise followed by long, uncomfortable dial tone.]_

"..."

A deep breath.

"...okay, let's...let's move on, shall we? Hello?"

"..."

"...okay, he must be gone, I-"

" _My name is Major Wilkus._ "

"Oh, hello Major Wilkus, what is your opinion on-"

 _"Your country just declared war on PURITY. I just watched the President's press conference on it. I just wanted to warn all the good and wholesome people of the USA to go to ground - you can understand that PURITY will have to retaliate and we don't want you getting hurt. Oh, and Mr. President - you're a dead man, you just don't know it."_

"...I-"

 _"Well, you have a nice day, Larry. Bye!"_

 _[Dial tone.]_

"I...I think we ought to take a break. Um...coming up next, it's America with _Horse With No Name_. I'm Larry Bohr, and I'll be right back..."

* * *

AN: With apologies to John Oliver.


	29. 29 10 16: The Arsenal of Democracy

I did an essay on that speech once.

* * *

 **29/10/16: The Arsenal of Democracy**

The President had spared no expense.

An aircraft carrier, the USS _John C. Stennis_ , plus it's escorting cruisers and destroyers had been deployed to the Alaskan coast. Alongside them were the transport and assault ships that carried a full Marine Expeditionary Unit. High above them, the massive shape of the SHIELD helicarrier hovered towards its destination, serving as a command headquarters for the entire operation.

Nick Fury stood on the bridge of the helicarrier, looking at a holographic projection of the Marine force commander - a man named General Wilder. The grizzled old marine did not look pleased at his partner.

" _The Pentagon has made their orders very clear, Fury,_ " snarled Wilder, " _We are to engage the PURITY troops with all assets available. The risk of civilian casualties is worth their destruction._ "

"The President has ordered..."

" _What the President doesn't know won't hurt him, Fury,_ " shrugged Wilder, " _Besides, he'll thank us. We're putting him in the history books at the man who finally finished the Nazis._ "

"I understand it might be difficult to get this through your thick-ass skull," replied Fury, "But our orders are to extract their hostages alive!"

" _My duty is to my men, sir, not your freaks,_ " snapped Wilder, " _Superior firepower will get them through alive. Now, if you'll excuse me..._ "

The hologram vanished as the communication ended. Fury rubbed his temples.

"Son of a..." he grunted.

"Do we go forward anyway?" asked Maria Hill, walking up the bridge.

"Damn right we do," replied Fury, "Tell Stark to move as soon as the airspace is clear."

* * *

" _Are you sure about this, boss?_ "

"Sure, when're we ever gonna get to do this again? Play the song."

The transport planes soared over Alaska, heading to the coordinates of the PURITY base, a SHIELD Quinjet at their head. The doors at the back began to open as the men and women of the 101st Airborne prepared to jump. As they did this, the Quinjet began to play a song.

" _Uh, Angel-Two, this is Angel-Two Actual, what is that?_ "

" _Uh, this is Angel-Two, that seems to be Stark. He's...uh...setting the mood, over._ "

" _Oh for the love of..._ "

Across every transport, a red light turned green. One by one, paratroopers jumped out of the planes, flying down towards the concrete base complex below them. As they did so, Tony Stark leapt out of the Quinjet, repulsers firing off as he flew downwards.

"Alright, here we go," he said to himself.

He turned on the suit's speakers.

 _It's rainin' men! Hallelujah it's rainin' men!_

He landed hard on one of the PURITY base's guard towers, punching the PURITY guard manning over the side. As the paratroopers began to land around him, he launched himself forward towards a line of anti-shipping guns, firing tankbuster rockets at them one-by-one.

" _Stark, this is Rogers, do you copy?_ "

"Yeah," said Stark, casually ripping a surface-to-air missile out of its entrenchment and throwing it at its own operators.

" _Pentagon are planning to bomb out the base if we don't get this done in half-an-hour, we're gonna need to pick up the pace,_ " Steve Rogers replied, " _Can you do that?_ "

"Yeah, I'm fine," shrugged Stark, "Get yourself down here."

" _I'm about a minute out, stand by._ "

* * *

Landing craft crashed into the rocky beach outside the base. The doors opened, and the marines poured out - at their head was Steve Rogers, far better known as Captain America.

"Spread out!" he yelled, "Don't bunch up!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

As the troops stormed up the beach, Steve began to charge against the main entrance to the installation. As he did so, there was a mighty crash, and some of the walls fell down.

The tanks that emerged from the smoke reminded Steve of old German Panthers - although it was clear that PURITY had heavily upgraded them. They were covered in explosive reactive armour and their guns had been replaced with guided missile launchers. The five tanks roared towards the landing craft, firing their missiles into vessels that hadn't yet unloaded their marines.

"Armour at twelve o'clock!" Steve called into his radio.

" _I got it, Cap._ "

In quick succession, a volley of arrows soared into the frontal armour of the tanks, sticking to the front of the hulls. They stayed there for a few seconds before the tips detonated with a thunderous boom - the tanks exploded, their turrets flying into the air.

"Oo-rah!" somebody yelled.

"Good job, Clint," nodded Steve.

" _No problem, Cap._ "

The marines charged through the gates of the base, screaming and yelling as they did.

* * *

"This all seems to easy," muttered the President.

He, the Vice-President, the Secretary of State and several military officers had gathered in the situation room. Abercrombie was standing next to a laptop, which was connected to a feed showing the status of the ongoing operation.

"I hope it ain't," he grunted, "If we win too quickly, we won't get to use our bombers. I wanna give 'em a full taste of the arsenal of democracy."

"Discretion is the better part of valour, General," grunted the Secretary of State.

"You want discretion, stay out of the military," muttered Abercrombie.

"What's this about bombers?" demanded the President.

The Secretary of State and Abercrombie glanced at each other.

"...it's a Pentagon contingency, we...uh...we...we were gonna ask if the time came..." said the Secretary of State, scratching the back of his head.

The President narrowed his eyes.

* * *

Jimmy paced in his lab, which was a bit fuller than he might have liked. The Shack crew had joined his other friends - they were trying to use VOX' tracking equipment to find PURITY's hostages, with little in the way of luck.

"Come on, Jim, the government's gonna find 'em," shrugged Timmy, "The President said they were in Alaska, right?"

"Half the army's been moved there to cordon the area off," added Sandy, "They ain't going anywhere."

"We can't rely on other people, Turner, it's not what we do," grunted Jimmy, "Come on, where's there base..."

The map pinged.

Jimmy tilted his head.

"That can't be right..."

* * *

The marines and paratroopers had swarmed PURITY's defences, smashing into the complex and following the internal signs to the prison cells. It was all going very well - which made Steve half expect he was walking into an ambush.

" _Rogers, this is Wilder. President wants your camera feed._ "

"Understood. Good afternoon, Mr. President."

He crept forward, shield at the ready. Two marines followed, carefully aiming their rifles at the door to the prison area. They reached the door - Steve turned the handle gingerly.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Sir," nodded the marines.

Steve nodded back. He kicked open the door.

Major Wilkus stood at the end of the corridor, smirking as he held his gun.

There were no guards. There were no prisoners.

"The hell?" whispered a marine.

"Ah, Captain America," sneered Wilkus, "You're a bit late, aren't you - and so _naive!_ A perfect embodiment of the United States, really."

"Where are the hostages, Wilkus?" demanded Steve.

"They're long gone," replied Wilkus, "Along with our best troops. What you've fought today was merely a sacrificial rear-guard. You were never intended to lose."

"You took them somewhere else," nodded Steve, "You tell us where, we can make it easy for you."

"I had no intention of walking out of this alive, Captain," snarled Wilkus, "My death will serve something far greater - greater than you, greater than me, greater even than Rausseman. The only people who truly know what happens next are myself and the General."

He raised the gun to his temple.

"And I will _never_ talk," he snarled.

"Don't do it, Wilkus!" shouted Steve, "Whatever it is, it's not worth-"

"This is only the beginning," said Wilkus.

 _BANG._

* * *

The President recoiled as he watched Wilkus shoot himself.

"So they were never there?" said the Vice-President, "Dammit, they knew we were gonna follow them home, they were ready for that!"

"But if they're not in the complex, where the hell are they?" asked the President.

"Well, I think-"

There was a loud bang, and the situation room suddenly shook as if hit by an earthquake.

"What the Sam Heck was that?" demanded Abercrombie.

The President looked warily at the ceiling, hearing a noise from far above.

"That's them," he said, "They're _here._ "

* * *

Pearl stopped Greg's van (which he had allowed them to borrow while away) on the side of the avenue, glancing at Garnet as she did so.

"Garnet, are you sure about this?" she asked, "I mean, I know you have the Future Vision, but why would you think _here_ would..."

The ground shook suddenly. Steven, Connie and the Gems jumped quickly out of the van, looking out into the distance.

As if rippling into existence from nothing, a giant airship appeared over the near-distant shape of the White House. It was long and covered in armour, and a giant word, 'PURITY', was emblazoned upon the side. It lowered down, the massive steel gondola on the bottom crashing into the roof of the building.

"What're they doing?" demanded Connie.

Garnet crossed her arms.

"They're coming for the President," she replied.

* * *

AN: future vision op plz nerf


	30. 30 10 16: The Great Civilization Fiasco

Huzzah for moaning!

* * *

 **30/10/16: The Great Civilization Fiasco**

 _As has become tradition 'round these parts, the final humour one-shot is basically unconnected to everything you've just said._

 _Sorry._

 _Anyway, now I shall rant about Civilization VI until you wish death upon me. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Civilization."

I swivelled my chair away from my computer screen.

"I freaking _love_ Civilization," I said, "Which you could probably predict, considering that I'm such an enormous history buff. It's just such an amazing and indeed positive game - one of the few strategy games where victory isn't contingent on crushing everybody with massed armies. So naturally, when they announced Civilization VI, I was pretty happy."

I shrugged.

"And as you're about to see in this presentation, well... _dang._ "

I pointed off screen.

"Roll the clip, Mr. Turner!"

"Yeah, whatever..."

* * *

 _Halloween Unspectacular Presents...  
A Moaning About Inconsequential Things Production...  
_ _ **The Great Civilization Fiasco!**_

 _Civilization VI is the latest in the groundbreaking Sid Meier's Civilization series, a game that hasn't really involved Sid Meier in about ten years._

An image of a sunbather, Sid Meier's face crudely photoshopped over his head, flashes on screen.

 _A massive celebration of_ _Whig_ _History, Civilization VI allows players to take control of any civilization in the history of the world and lead them throughout time. And by_ any _civilization, we mean only our preapproved eighteen civilizations, because we removed the ability to change their names._

 _Choose from nineteen unique leaders, all chosen for their historical achievements and centrality to the history of their nations!_

"Wasn't Catherine de Medici Italian?" asked Dipper, looking over the Civilization selection screen.

"Ptht! Italian, French, same diff," shrugged Mabel.

The Shack crew and Pacifica were, at Soos' insistence, having a LAN session at the Gravity Falls Internet Cafe and Book Depository. Dipper and Ford, being the resident nerds among the group, were scrutinising the leader choices.

"Well, I guess she _was_ Queen Mother of France," shrugged Ford.

"You know what else?" added Dipper, "Why's it have to be Ghandi again? I mean, I _know_ he's important, but he's been the Indian leader in every single game! Don't they have anyone else?"

"True," nodded Ford, "They could have had the Rani Lakshmibai, couldn't they?"

"They could have," said Soos, nodding, "But then we wouldn't be able to have Ghandi nuke jokes."

Dipper, Mabel and Wendy groaned.

"The what now?" asked Ford.

"Aw, come on!" exclaimed Wendy, burying her head in her hands, "That joke stopped being funny years ago!"

"I have no idea what's going on," said Stan.

"You and me both, old man," nodded Pacifica.

 _Yes, you can rest assured that the Civ team are a hip n' happenin' bunch, yes sir! All jive and no square!_

 _Civilization VI incentives proper strategic play by making the game punishingly hard unless you do exactly what the game expects you to do for your given civilization. For example, our main inspirations for the barbarian AI were taken from the Walking Dead and Liam Neeson's character in Taken, just to ensure that you have the maximum amount of challenge and the minimum amount of fun from turn one on!_

"And I hereby name this settlement Buttsville!" declared Tucker.

"Um, we can't rename cities anymore, Tuck," replied Danny, "It's gonna have to be Charleston."

"Aww..."

Danny, Sam and Tucker looked down the hill on which they'd founded their second city. In the distant grassland, they saw a lone scout, watching them.

"That a barb?" asked Sam.

"Aw, don't worry, it's just a scout!" shrugged Tucker.

The scout blew a horn. Suddenly, hundreds and hundreds of barbarians suddenly burst into view, marching towards the mostly undefended city.

" _Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!_ "

"Oh, _come on_ ," sighed Danny.

"Wanna just go play Internet Solitaire?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

 _But that's not all! Every civilization is geared for a specific set of victories and if you aren't working on them from turn one, you are utterly screwed! Couldn't build campuses in the first fifty turns? No science victory for you! Don't have any land suitable for a theatre district? No cultural victory for you! Hardcore Gamers love it!_

"I've come to the conclusion," said the Comic Book Guy, leaning over the counter, "That the less _fun and accessible_ a game is, the greater it is as a product."

"But doesn't that mean that less people can actually _play_ the game?" replied Kamala, tilting her head.

"Good!" snorted the Comic Book Guy, "It will keep the filthy casuals and console peasants away from our glorious PC Gaming Master Race. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going online to harass gaming journalists who don't agree with my opinions and ogle at images of female characters in compromising positions."

"Why are you such a terrible person?"

 _Yes, a product for only the most hardcore of gamers. Just what Civilization was always supposed to be, right? And that's not all! Wonders now take up a whole tile, usually with specific requirements, just to make it that much harder to utilise them! That'll learn people who build them just because they happen to like them, won't it?_

"So, to build Stonehenge, one has to have a complete flat tile of plains right next to a stone deposit," mused Jimmy, pacing in front of VOX, "Now just as a thought exercise, why not load up a picture of Stonehenge. It won't take long, trust me. Notice something?"

He waited, smiling serenely.

"Yes, if you look closely, you will see that _there are no quarries next to Stonehenge!_ " he bellowed, "It's just an arbitrary restriction!"

"But Jimmy," said Carl, descending upside down from the roof in an amber robe, "All human achievement is arbitaAAAHH!"

He fell from the ceiling, a rope attached to his thigh knocking Jimmy over as he did.

"Sorry Carl!" Sheen yelled from the roof, "I got distracted! The Ultralord app just updated!"

There was a long silence.

"Aw man, they added Ultraboy? But he's _laaaame!_ "

 _There are dozens of other improvements we could mention...so we will! How about we mention how all the other leaders declare war on you all the time for no good reason? Or perhaps how everything takes dozens of turns to get done at any time, even on Quick! We could mention how missionaries are now literally wizards, because that's faithful to history! We could mention how we dropped the mission to Alpha Centauri endgame for a more_ realistic _Mars habitation project! How strategic resources are much harder to get! How..._

"Okay, okay, guys stop."

I stood up on top of my chair.

"Just...just...I had a speech in my head, but..."

I shrugged.

"Nah, I'm just gonna go play Civ V."

 _This one-shot has been brought to you by the People Who Are Still Pretty Fine With Civilization V Actually_

* * *

AN: Yeah, I didn't like it much.

Anyway, finale tomorrow!


	31. 31 10 16: The Chaotic Overture

Right! Let's finish this!

* * *

 **31/10/16: The Chaotic Overture**

Next to the ubersoldaten, PURITY's Shock Troopers were their most elite soldiers. Clad head-to-toe in black fibreglass armour, with face-concealing gasmasks under their coalscuttle helmets, they were armed with the FG-52 Zerstäuber - a heavily modified paratrooper's rifle that replaced standard ammunition with a concentrated heat ray. When it made contact with an object, the ray would turn it into a vapour of steam. There was, of course, a downside - the end of the rifle was attached by a short nozzle to a pack on the soldiers' backs, which if penetrated had a nasty tendency to explode - but the effectively of the weapon had led such problems to be tolerated.

They caught the guards of the White House totally unprepared as they poured down from the airship into the building. Both lightly-armed Secret Service agents and marines with ceremonial rifles were literally wiped away by the advancing Shock Troopers.

There was clearly not a lot of time to evacuate the building.

Four Secret Service agents had burst into the situation room immediately, securing those inside as they hastily planned a route to the lawn. It took them about ten seconds to work out a path, but it was ten seconds too long.

The door burst open. The agents turned their pistols towards the Shock Troopers entering the room - there was a series of volleys of red light, and all four agents ceased to exist.

"Mr. President, sir."

General Rausseman strode in the door, flanked by two hulking armoured ubersoldaten. The Shock Troopers piled into the room, aiming their weapons at the assembled officials.

"General Rausseman," snarled the President.

"Please forgive the violence of my entry," said Rausseman amicably, "I want only to talk."

"You'll never get out of here alive, you know that?" growled the Vice-President.

"Oh, it's not about _surviving_ , Mr. Vice-President, it's about sending a message," said Rausseman, "First message. Becker?"

One of the ubersoldaten nodded, aiming his machine gun at the Secretary of State. Before he could say anything, the soldier fired, gunning the man down in an instant.

"My God!" exclaimed the Vice-President.

"Dissent will not be tolerated," said Rausseman, "Any time your esteemed President talks back or attempts to be defiant, somebody will be shot. If another person talks back to me, they will be shot. Any questions?"

The ubersoldaten shouldered their guns threateningly.

"No? Then we'll begin."

* * *

Steven looked up at the massive airship that had landed on the White House. It was an awful but impressive sight - and it had already attracted attention. Armoured vehicles of the National Guard were already surrounding the building, waiting for the word to attack. None had clearly been given.

"So what do we do?" asked Connie.

"You can't seriously be suggesting we attack _that thing?!_ " exclaimed Peridot, "It's like some kind of air whale! I don't wanna go near that, it might..."

"It's not alive, Peri," replied Amethyst, putting a hand on Peridot's shoulder, "It'll be fine."

"Yes, but it'll be full of guards," mused Pearl, "And with the National Guard out, we can't exactly walk in the front door."

"We need a portal or something," said Lapis, scratching her chin.

"But where do we get that?" demanded Steven, "We don't have Lion with us!"

"Yeah, and it's not exactly like a portal is just going to appear out of nowhere!" snapped Peridot.

All of a sudden, a portal appeared out of nowhere.

Jimmy stepped out, leading his group as he strode confidently up to Garnet with his hands behind his back.

"Greetings, my name is Jimmy Neutron, and I-"

The Gems immediately aimed their respective weapons at his face.

"- _AM A FRIEND, A FRIEND!_ " shouted Jimmy, raising his hands.

"I'll handle this," said Sandy, stepping in front of Jimmy, "Are you fellers the Crystal Gems?"

"Yes, yes we are," nodded Steven.

"Good, because we can help each other," nodded Sandy, "Our friends are being held hostage on that ship, and I'll wager yours are too. We need to get 'em out."

"And save the President," added Soos, somewhat redundantly.

"But if we save one of them, we'll alert all the guards holding the other," mused Pearl.

"Then we'll have to rescue them both at the same time," declared Dipper, "I know it's not usually a good idea, but we're gonna need to split up."

"Indeed," nodded Jimmy, "The way I see it, there will be _more_ guards on the airship, but the ones in the White House will be their _best_ troops. The best idea would be to try to sneak past the White House guards while drawing some of them away with an all-out attack on the airship."

He turned to his friends.

"Alright, Turner, Dani, Dipper and Wendy will come with me aboard the airship," he declared, "Jazz, Spongebob, Sandy, Mabel and Soos will save the President."

"Pearl, Lapis," ordered Garnet, "You'll come with me. Amethyst, Peridot, Steven and Connie will go with the...square man to the White House."

"I'm Spongebob," said Spongebob helpfully.

"Right," nodded Garnet.

"Then it's settled," nodded Jimmy, "Spongebob, give me your recaller. I'll set it to drop you off in the Executive Building, should be less guards there..."

* * *

" _This is a complete shambles._ "

Fury tried not to tell the Army general he was speaking to how much of an understatement that was.

" _I'm short of everything here,_ " said the general, his holographic image gesturing in frustration, " _And even if Wilder and the Joint Chiefs would let the troops in Alaska go, it'll take 'em days to get here! You've gotta have something in reserve, Fury, we can't bring down an airship with rifle bullets and cannon shells!"_

"Lucky for you, general, that I'm always prepared," said Fury, crossing his arms, "I left a reserve team. They're on their way now."

" _Well I hope they're enough,_ " nodded the general, " _I'll keep pressuring the Pentagon - they've got to have_ something _to spare here. Good luck, Director._ "

The hologram vanished. Fury looked over to a technician, who entered something into his console. A new holographic figure appeared before the director.

"Coulson, are they ready?" asked Fury.

Phil Coulson nodded.

" _They're in - we dug up an old tunnel the SSR built between the Capitol Building and the White House. PURITY shouldn't know it exists._ "

"Then let's hope this works," growled Fury.

" _They'll do it, sir._ "

Fury grunted as Coulson's hologram vanished.

"Isn't that tunnel about two feet high?" asked Hill.

"Yes," nodded Fury, "Yes it is."

* * *

"Private, check the vent. I heard something."

"It's probably just a rat, sir."

"We're up against _abnormals_ , Private. _Check. The vent._ "

"Alright, fine, jeez."

The PURITY trooper walked away from the rest of his section, who were guarding the office of the First Lady in the East Wing. Drawing his pistol, he climbed onto a chair and stuck his head into the vent, aiming his pistol into the darkness.

"Nah, nothing here, sarge," he replied, "Seriously, man, it's a rat."

"I'm not ' _man'_ , I'm your sergeant," snapped the sergeant, "Now get back down here."

Had he bothered to look a little closer, the PURITY trooper may have seen the faintest hint of red and blue inside the vent. He might also have noticed the tiny speck that had climbed onto the barrel of his pistol.

The sergeant put a finger up to his ear.

"Alright, gentlemen, we're shifting," he said, "Command wants us in the Oval Office. They're upping the garrison there..."

* * *

Stan rapped his fingers on the bars of his cell, looking across the hallway of the prison complex. It was an odd feeling, being on an airship - almost like being on a ship, but subtlety different. Across from him, Ford stared miserably at the floor.

"It's all my fault, Stanley," he sighed, "I shouldn't have talked."

"Hey, Ford, don't beat yourself up," replied Stan, "It's Wilkus' fault - he's the one who started all this, not you."

"But I got everybody here captured!" exclaimed Ford, "I got Harlan Jarvis tortured! All because-"

"At the risk of interrupting a family moment," Vlad Masters sighed from up the hall, "Can you please stop lamenting? It's been going on for days and it's giving me a migraine."

There was a long silence. Quite suddenly, they heard series of shouts and gunshots from outside the door. There was a cry of pain and the door burst open.

A PURITY sentry was flung down the hall, smashing into the wall at the other end. Garnet strode into the hallway, casually punching off the locks to the cells.

"Saved!" exclaimed Stan, "Thank you, you beautiful purple woman!"

"Not quite," said Vlad, pointing to a metal anklet on his ankle, "As long as these are active, no captive can use their powers. If you want to free everybody on this ship, you'll need to shut them off. Otherwise, we would simply be jumping off an airship at great height, and that wouldn't end well."

"Plus you need to establish a way off for people without powers," nodded Ford.

"Then come with me," said Garnet, "We'll go to the bridge. Once we're there, we'll shut down the anklets and activate the escape pods."

"Sounds like a plan," said Stan.

"Then if you don't mind, I'll head to the pods," said Vlad, "Not much I can do without...well, I'm sure you can understand."

"Good idea, lead the prisoners there," said Garnet.

"Sure, sure...I guess,' shrugged Vlad, "You go on."

Garnet let Stan and Ford out of the dungeon. Vlad sighed heavily.

"Well, you heard the woman!" he called out, "Follow me!"

* * *

Steven and Connie crept down the hallway, ducking and weaving behind furniture to avoid getting seen by the PURITY guards. So far it had been going well - and they hadn't heard any problems from any of the other infiltrators in the White House.

This didn't last.

They were just sneaking past the door to the Oval Office when they heard a loud crash from the other end of the corridor.

"Soos!"

"Aw, sorry dude! Aw man, that looked expensive, too!"

"Contact!"

PURITY troops burst out of the Oval Office, pointing their guns at Steven and Connie. Down the hallway, Mabel and Soos began to run towards them.

"Dudes, get out of here!" yelled Soos.

"Stop him!" bellowed one of the guards.

A PURITY soldier drew his pistol and aimed at Soos' head.

Suddenly, as if he had expanded from microscopic size, a man was standing on the gun. The PURITY soldier cried out and fired his bullet into the floor as his arm was painfully brought down under the man's weight.

"Aw, dude, are you _Ant-Man!_ " exclaimed Soos, "I've heard of you, you're awesome!"

"Aw, thanks man!" replied Ant-Man, offering his hand, "Scott Lang."

" _Kill them!_ "

"Uh, maybe this can wait," said Scott.

"Yeah, probably, dude."

Soos threw himself at one of the guards, slamming him against a wall, as Scott charged into the rest of the guards. Steven, Connie and Mabel fled down the hallway.

They were just turning a corner when they saw two more patrols advancing from either end of the corridor. Thinking quickly, Steven pushed open the door to a supply cupboard and dragged Connie and Mabel inside.

* * *

The Captain of the PURITY airship stood at the bridge, his brow furrowed as he listened to the alarm sirens. They were such an annoyance - surely his crew would deal with the boarders. They were, after all, trained professionals.

"I told you, I won't give up my son!"

And _why_ did the interrogators have to do this _on his bridge?_

He turned around, watching the two officers leaning over Greg Universe, one brandishing a knife.

"Well then, Mr. Universe," sneered one of the officers, "We warned you. Lieutenant?"

The officer with the knife pressed his knife to Greg's arm.

"Peel it," he ordered.

"Yes s-"

The hatch to the bridge burst open.

Pearl back-flipped down from the hatch, firing a bolt from her spear. The knife-wielding officer was knocked off his feet and thrown into the wall. The other drew his pistol and pointed at her, but a volley of yellow stars hit him in the face and knocked him out cold.

A squad of guards raced into the bridge from the back of the gondola as the airship team jumped down the hatch. Garnet charged them, flooring two of them in one swing. Behind her, Dani fired an ectobeam at one and Jimmy at another, while Wendy struck the last on with the blunt end of her axe.

The Captain now stood alone on the bridge. He crossed his arms.

"You can take my ship from my cold, dead ha-"

A fist of water burst through the window, slamming into the Captain and pushing him right out the window. He landed, unconscious, on the White House roof.

Lapis shrugged.

"There was a fountain on the lawn," she said.

"Aw geez, I didn't get to do anything," muttered Dipper.

"It's for the best," said Ford, climbing down the hatch with Stan, "These people have guns, Dipper - I'd rather you didn't get shot."

"Oh, come on, getting shot is a learning experience," said Stan, "Don't be wet blanket, Ford!"

Ford shook his head.

"Right, we have the controls," he said, "Let's make life as difficult for these Nazis as humanly possible."

* * *

The PURITY sergeant was smugly convinced that he had these kids cornered in the supply closet, thank you very much.

His men were gathered on the door, all guns pointed inside. He sneered as he checked his weapon one last time before addressing his troops.

"All right, gentlemen, we're flushing them out," he declared.

"You sure it'll be easy, sir?" asked one of his men, "It's been a pretty weird day."

"It'll be fine, Private," grunted the sergeant, "On three! One...two...th-"

The door was flung open.

There were no longer three kids in the closet. There was _one_ kid, and one far larger individual who was currently swinging the blunt of a massive sword into his men.

Stevonnie swung their sword into the mass of PURITY troopers, knocking out most of their front rank. The rest opened fire, but they caught the bullets on their shield before throwing it towards the men still standing. To finish off, they roundhouse kicked the sergeant in the face, knocking him into the wall.

"Okay," they said, "They're gone."

"Wow!" said Mabel, "Did you just become a giant woman?"

"Sorta," shrugged Stevonnie, "Anyway, we've got to find the President. Come on!"

"Sure thing, Conneven!"

"...Stevonnie."

"Right."

* * *

"Everything is falling apart! Ant-Man and a hairless gopher are tearing up our patrols, two defenceless kids turned into one un-defenceless woman, there is a squirrel beating up everyone - we need backup! Please!"

The PURITY officer bellowed into his radio from his position outside the Situation Room. He gritted his teeth as the airship's bridge failed to answer him.

"Ah, Jesus...all units, this is Major Phillips, we need reinforcements at..."

He trailed off as a vent cover flew off the roof in front of him.

"...oh _crap._ "

A tiny woman jumped down from the vent, suddenly glowing and enlarging to regular size as she landed. Her fist expanded to massive size as she swung it into the officer's face, flooring him in one punch.

Kamala Khan turned towards the situation room door. She found a anthropomorphic squirrel, a sponge, two short women who were green and purple respectively, a teenager with a gem in the place of their bellybutton and a small girl in a sweater.

Part of her told her that she really shouldn't consider this as normal as she did.

"What's up?" she asked, waving.

"Not much," shrugged the purple woman, "You breakin' in too?"

"Yep."

"Cool."

* * *

"Mr. President, you and I have the same goals."

Rausseman paced in front of the President, the ubersoldaten still aiming their guns at him.

"You want to end infighting in your society," he said, "And so do I. But what you don't seem to understand is that to unite society, you need _an Other_. An _enemy_. When the Germans fought the Jews and the Communists, they were united. When America fought the Soviet Union, they were united. But what unites us now?"

He chuckled to himself.

"You can't fight _concepts_ , Mr. President," he sniffed, "Be they terror or poverty or drugs or whatever it is this week. But you _can_ fight the mutant. You _can_ fight the Inhuman. You _can_ fight the alien."

He leaned over the President, grinning.

"If we were to unite, Mr. President, we could create a human utopia," he said, "And all it would take is the death of a few thousand freaks. They're not even human, Mr. President, they don't fall under the protection of human rights. So tell me, Mr. President, don't you want a united human race?"

"Not on your terms," snapped the President, "Never on your terms."

"Agreeing to me is your only chance for survival, Mr. President," snarled Rausseman.

"Immediate surrender is _your_ only chance for survival, General Rausseman," replied the President.

"I don't mind being made a martyr, Mr. President," snapped Rausseman.

"Then I guess that makes two of us."

Rausseman nodded, drawing his pistol and pointing it at the President's head.

"Very well, Mr. President," he said, "Perhaps your successor will be more malleable."

The door burst open.

The two ubersoldaten and the Shock Troopers turned immediately. A whip was flung out towards them, lassoing most of the Shock Troopers and flinging them out the door. The remaining two suddenly found their largely metal rifles magnetised to the roof, pulling them upwards - they were then flung back down, knocking them out.

Sandy leapt towards one of the ubersoldaten, chopping him in the face and causing him to recoil. This allowed Stevonnie to charge forward, slashing his armoured form with their sword and knocking him down. The second of the ubersoldaten aimed his machine gun at them, but Kamala knocked him across the room with an enlarged fist.

There was a crashing sound from up the hall, and a squad of National Guardsman appeared at the door, aiming their guns at Rausseman.

"Well, _you_ got here quickly," said Peridot sarcastically.

"Joint Chiefs only just approved an assault, ma'am," said the squad leader.

Rausseman sniffed.

"You've changed nothing," he declared, "Even if you clear the White House, our airship-"

"You mean _that_ airship?" asked the Vice-President, pointing out the window.

The burning form of the PURITY airship lay on its side on the White House lawn. As crowds of captives stumbled away from it, the airship team could be seen standing in front of the flames. Garnet gave them a thumbs up - Stevonnie returned it.

"Oh, the humanity," said General Abercrombie, wincing.

"Well, it's as I said," snapped Rausseman, "I'm not afraid to become a martyr."

He pointed his gun at the President again. Quickly, the President grabbed his arm, twisting it and seizing the gun. He turned it around and pointed it at the General's face.

"That's not going to happen, Rausseman," he snapped.

Rausseman stared down the barrel of his own gun.

Then he began to laugh.

"Oh, Mr. President, do you think it ends here?" he demanded, "Do you think you can kill PURITY with me? PURITY isn't me, or that airship, or my base! It's an _idea_ , a _concept_. And you can't wage war on _concepts_."

"Who said anything about killing you?" demanded the President.

He glanced at the National Guardsmen.

"Take him away."

The guardsmen quickly grabbed Rausseman, securing his hands behind his back and dragging him away.

"You haven't heard the end of this, any of you!" he bellowed, "There are worse things coming! When the revolution happens, you-"

"And that's enough of that," said the Vice-President, closing the door behind them.

"Well," said Spongebob, grinning, "Looks like we did it!"

"What're _you_ talking about, you didn't do anything!" said Peridot.

"He provided moral support," retorted Sandy.

"And his recaller got us in," added Mabel.

"And he's kind of adorable," added Kamala.

"Hey, I'm not adorable!" exclaimed Spongebob, crossing his arms, "I'm cool!"

"No, you _are_ pretty adorable," said the President, "Sorry."

* * *

The press had wasted no time in swarming the front of the White House at the very first opportunity. The President had walked up to the gates to address them (the Secret Service were not opening the gates until they were sure the PURITY threat had passed) - meanwhile, the small group that had saved him sat on the lawn, enjoying the peace that had finally broken out.

"So, you reckon we're gonna get a reward for this?" asked Connie, looking up at the clouds.

"Who knows?" shrugged Greg, "I don't really know if I want one, to be honest - a ceremony would be a bit too pretentious for me."

"What did Rausseman mean by 'the revolution?'" asked Sandy.

"It's probably bluster," said Jimmy, "He wants leverage so he doesn't spend the rest of his life in Fort Leavenworth or something."

"I dunno," said Kamala, "PURITY reminds me of HYDRA - and we can never get rid of those guys..."

"PURITY were just a bunch of sad, scared Nazis living on an island reliving the glory days," grunted Ford, "They don't have the staying power to be a major threat."

"Well," said Kamala, "I hope you're right..."

She looked up at the fine late afternoon sky, and for some reason, it struck her that it was not raining.

* * *

Late that night, it did in fact rain - not in Washington, but at the Department of Defence's prison at Fort Leavenworth.

The armoured van arrived outside the entrance to the prison - two soldiers quickly opened it up and dragged General Rausseman out of the back.

"Easy, gentlemen, easy! He's a guest."

The two soldiers let go of their charge and snapped to attention. Rausseman looked at the three figures standing at the door to the building. He smirked.

"I knew your actions weren't simply incompetence," he said.

General William Wilder offered Rausseman a salute. The PURITY leader returned it.

"There are a lot of people in the Pentagon and the government, General, who are very sympathetic to your views on the damn freaks," he said, "We need a war to unite the country, and if we get to wipe out real threats while doing it, well, so be it."

"And who are you compatriots, General?" asked Rausseman.

"You might recognise General Abercrombie," replied Wilder, pointing to the air force general.

"Nice job getting rid of the Secretary of State," said Abercrombie, "I never liked him. Too weak."

Wilder nodded.

"And my other friend can introduce himself," he finished.

The last officer nodded.

"My name is Admiral Eugene Massinger," he said, "And I am the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. We're interested in seeing PURITY revived."

"Does the President know?" asked Rausseman.

Admiral Massinger sneered.

"What the President doesn't know won't hurt him."

* * *

"Woo! Cliffhanger!"

I got up from my chair, grinning.

"Well, that's us done for another year, and is great to be back into the swing of things," I said, "As you can tell, this isn't a one-off, and we'll be back next year. I'd just like to thank everybody for reading and reviewing this story. You've been a real motivator, and I'm glad I somehow kept your attention. For everybody following _City on the Hill_ , I swear, I'll get back to it now."

I walked over to a CD player next to the desk.

"Now, if everybody will excuse me, it's time for my Halloween jam! Have a good one!"

 _ALL: We didn't start October,  
It's some science thing,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

 _ALL: We didn't start October,  
It's some science thing,  
And we don't have degrees,  
We didn't start October,  
But one thing can be told,  
Because it's all E3's fault._

 ** _The End_**

* * *

 _FINAL STATISTICS_

 _31 Chapters._

 _145 Pages._

 _1,185 Hits._

 _3 Faves._

 _3 Alerts._

 _44,391 Words._

 _214,235 Characters (without spaces)._

 _Approx. 100 Hours of Work._

 _One Exhausted Author - back for more._

* * *

"Insano, it's been eight hours, you're not gonna reach it."

"No, no, I've got it!"

It was late at night, and Dr. Insano was still reaching his arm down the dimensional sinkhole, trying to grab the Fiddley Thing.

"Come on, it's nearly midnight, go home! I've gotta get some sleep!"

"Just one more hour, I nearly have it! ...ooh, I think that's a quarter!"


End file.
